Beloved
by itano
Summary: It's the autumn of 1922 and Misaki Takahashi has fallen into the world of hosting. His goal: to seduce two of the most wealthy men in Kyoto into bidding for his virginity. But when Misaki finds himself falling hard for his patrons, he begins to question the price tag on his love. M-RATED, all couples.
1. Prologue

**Author's note: **Hey everybody! Happy holidays!This idea of "historical/geisha" themed love story was inspired after I read "Memoirs of A Geisha" last year. I've been working out the kinks on a plot for quite some time (actually, its been a really long time lol)...so, you'll probably see a lot of inspiration coming from that book/movie. Basically, this will feature all couples from junjou romantica and mostly will be canon, though I might mix things up ;D

**Warning:** This will have a large amount of SMUT, a little bit of cursing, some cultural fails, and a lot of romance.

Thanks for reading, and as always, I humbly ask for reviews, follows, and favorites! Now...enjoy the show!

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**Prologue**

Waiting in the hall, kneeled upon the creaking wooden floorboards, Misaki cupped his shaking hands to his ear as he leaned into the door, glancing nervously down the corridor where Isaka was due any second to come scold him for being so indecent. He shifted and cursed as the fabric of his hakama bunched underneath his knees. Perhaps they really should have found him something less formal for today's meeting. Isaka the owner of the okiya where Misaki worked had reminded him that in order to impress these benefactors, he would have to suit their expensive fancies. Shifting again, Misaki questioned why he would even try to bother impressing these men so late in the game; he'd already been with the two of them for nearly seven months.

He could hear Usami Akihiko's firm voice break the uneasy silence in the room. "Why don't we just decide a flat price and end this easily?" he asked, his voice tinged with annoyance. Usagi-san, as Misaki called him, was apparently sitting further from the door then the other two men in the room. There was a pause and a huff; finally another voice replied.

"I will go as high as possible." That was Iijun Kyo, the other man in the room. Misaki could practically feel the venom laced within his devastatingly velvet voice, as well as Usagi-san's reactionary lighting of a cigarette.

"I will as well."

"Will we restart bidding?" A third voice broke the swelling silence, the familiar baritone voice of Asahina, Isaka's assistant and the business manager of the okiya. Seemingly placid, he asked the two men for their first bids (well _second_first bids, seeing that the first round had dragged on for an hour with no result, forcing Asahina to restart the bidding until one of the men relented). Iijuuin went first.

"A million yen."

Misaki's breath caught. Never had he dreamed of such a sum of money before; how could he have such worth? It was flattering and rather amazing in the least. He swallowed hard when he imagined how far a million yen could take a person. A million yen. Wow.

"Nii-chan," Misaki murmured to the empty hallway. "You'll have nothing to worry about anymore."

Oh how Takahiro would smile if he found that money waiting for him in the mail, crisp in a manila envelope. He would be so proud of Misaki; his passed mum and dad would be so proud of him too. When he thought about it, one million yen was enough to pay off his father's gambling debts—it would certainly be_ more_ than enough.

When Misaki first arrived at Isaka's okiya a year ago, he had no idea what he was getting himself into—looking back, he could see how these few short months in Kyoto changed the way he saw the world. Beforehand, Misaki he'd never heard of selling one's self, except for prostitution; he was still only nineteen and with little understanding of romance or sexual relations at all. He never even imagined that a man would be willing to offer so much money just for the opportunity to take his virginity.

It took him a while but Misaki began to see what men like Usami and Iijun wanted with all the lavish gifts and trips they'd been showering him with for the past six months. It was one of those things: something that he understood and could never unknow it. A year ago, he would have thought they were just two unusually generous men. Now that he was grown, he knew: there was so much more to love than just fairy tales.

Misaki shuffled closer to the door and honed into the conversation once more. Someone was tapping the toe of their shoe against the leg of the table, nervously. "I'll give you three million yen," Akihiko finally replied coolly.

Misaki gasped.

"Five million," Iijun retorted.

"Six million."

"Takahashi-kun," a voice from above him hummed, just loud enough to make Misaki's heart jump and his skin prickle.

He turned slowly. Isaka-san was standing above him, dressed in sharp looking pinstriped kimono, and his arms crossed against his broad chest. Misaki noticed that the man was barefooted-then again, he never wore house shoes when conducting business. He once said to Misaki that it was "good luck."

"You really shouldn't be listening in like that," he scolded, though his voice was soft. "If those two saw you laying on the floor like a dog, they may reconsider."

"I'm sorry for my rudeness," Misaki said, lowering his head in the shame of being caught, shuffling himself away from the door. "They're taking a really long time in there...I guess I just wanted to hear what they were doing."

"I understand. Longest meeting I've ever seen. Those two could go on for days like that." Isaka exhaled; then smirked. "You must have really got them interested."

Misaki flashed him a weak smile. Six months of courting and dating—it was all so bizarre and unique, the way that men behaved in this city. Every encounter was intimate and yet so very coy, as if real things didn't exist here in Kyoto. It was as if he was a world away from the tipsy house back on the shore of Manazuru, back at home where he'd began only a year ago.

"But," Isaka sighed, cracking his knuckles one by one, "However long it takes is fine with me. You've worked hard, Chibi-tan." Isaka patted him on the back and offered him a hand. He helped Misaki back onto his feet, reached down and roughly adjusted Misaki's hakama fabric around where it had bunched, and led the two away from the room and into Isaka's office that reeked of dust and dirty linen.

They both remained silent for a while, Isaka picking up and setting down the hundreds of knick-nacks that littered his desk. Actually, the whole room was a complete mess all the time. The bookshelves that lined the walls were filled with dusted novels and anthologies, and stacked all over the floor were at least a hundred business files, books upon books of expenses and earnings. He seemed to keep everything he found—from the apple core in the corner of the room, to the rag that was dangling out the open window, to the magazines that were strewn around the room wildly. Misaki always loved the way you could never expect what you would find in Isaka's office, like some kind of junk shop.

Isaka squirmed under the heavy silence picking up items off the desk and setting them back down again. "Chibi-tan," he murmured under his breath as he rolled a glass ball in his hand. "You realize that after today, your debts are paid for, right?"

Misaki nodded, but it all seemed too good to be true.

"Well...you also realize that because you're no longer indebted to us...you can do as you please."

His voice caught. "I…I understand."

Isaka took a deep breath and continued. "You can go back to...well, wherever you came from. You don't have to live here any longer... that is, if you don't want to. You're always welcome, squirt."

Misaki pressed his lips into a smile even though his mind was whirling. Never before had he even imagined being so independent and a brand new rush of emotion passed over him as a foreign word popped into his mind. _Free._ It tasted sweet on his tongue and yet it had a bitter after taste that nipped at him and left him shaking.

For years, he and his brother had been running away from his late father's gambling debts, and just last year he'd been forced to leave his home and entertain some of the wealthiest men in the city in order to pay off his family debts. Everything, from moving into the okiya, to meeting Usami and Iijun and becoming the object of their affections, was finally becoming a part of his past. And now, with this final deal closing, he was free to travel back home and be normal again.

There was a moment where neither of them said anything and Misaki glanced around the cluttered room that held so many memories of his past year here, the window catching the glow of the moon on the extravagant roofs of buildings that ran all the way toward the distant hills through the window. That was when he realized that his life in Manazuru seemed a whole ocean away from him. He wondered if he could even consider the old dirt floor apartment he and his brother once shared a home ever again.

His brother was now married and with a family, his parents dead, his friends now a distant memory. Without the okiya, Misaki had nowhere else to go. He knew he wasn't the brightest person in the world, and because of this, although he hated to admit it, he needed someone to take care him...and now, he was being abandoned.

For the first time in his life, he would be all alone.

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**Authors Note: **Thanks for reading everybody! Although this is just a prologue, I would really appreciate **reviews**. It tells me whether or not enough people are interested in me continuing! So please, even fifteen words makes my day!

Anywho...this story will be throughout several points of view however, the clear focus is Romantica, there will of course be some tero, egoist, and mistake lovin' too!


	2. 1

**Author's note: **Dear readers, first off I really want to thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews I've gotten so far on both this story as well as my other pieces. You're all amazing and really make me understand why writing is my passion!

Here's the next installment of Misaki's journey. I'm really excited to start this piece and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I have so far.

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**~1~**

It was the autumn of 1922 in Kyoto when Isaka Ryuuichirou was first brought Takahashi Misaki.

The streets, made of mismatched stones of all sizes and shapes, took on a pallor that was cast by the farmer's moon that hung low over the hills. The night was quickly closing in. Everything, from the streets, to the canals, and the bridges, were sprinkled with an assortment of orange and red leaves, plucked by gusts of ice-cold air from the sea. The blazing colors dappled against the red of ancient architecture, made the world seem as if it were burning, underneath the scarlet glow of the moon.

The okiya where Isaka lived and managed stood deep within the maze of alleyways that made up the city; the shadows cast from the other buildings surrounding it made the night always seem darker, even with pale light of lanterns that were posted round the main gate. At night, the wind would rattle at the doors of Isaka's apartment like the hands of a greedy robber, leaving him up into the wee hours of the morning scrambling to remember exactly how many millions of yen worth of hakama, kimono, and furs that Asahina had told him were in the storage room upstairs.

But tonight, though the wind was as fierce as ever, he was counting more than just hakama, kimono, and fur. Isaka leaned down against the papers that littered his desk and looked out through the window. Surely no place on earth was more majestic than Kyoto, he thought, staring out at the hundreds of buildings that surrounded the okiya, still sparkling with life despite the hour. He sighed, drumming his fingers against the desk.

_She's late…again! Blast that Aikawa. I bet she's probably out buying all kinds of treats to ease the brat's crying. I swear when she's back here I'll…_

The door opened. "Ryuuichirou-sama, they've arrived," Asahina called, having to duck to make his way into the room. Though he originally started out as a servant to the Ryuuichirou family, being Isaka's hired "playmate", Asahina was well liked by Isaka's parents and was quickly considered family among his masters. At first Isaka couldn't stand the thought of a peasant becoming his new "cousin", but once he inherited the okiya from his parents, he too found that Asahina's way with numbers and pragmatic personality was rather useful in the business…plus, Isaka supposed the guy had his extra charm on the side. Although, there was no official titles given, or even a handshake to truly solidify things between the two men, if someone asked who was the _actual_ manager of the okiya, any patron would say, "Asahina-san, of course."

Isaka exhaled deeply, pushing himself from his desk to stand. "What am I going to do with Aikawa? She thinks I run on her Dolly-Do-Good schedule. It's three o'clock in the morning, dammit! No train to Kyoto takes that damn long!"

"Leave her be," Asahina replied. "She has keen sense for finding potential. Remember, almost every success we've had here has been because of her choosing."

"Too bad she doesn't have a keen sense of time," Isaka grumbled underneath his breath.

He went to open the door, but Asahina stopped him. "We said that we'd meet the boy in your office tomorrow morning."

"But I want to meet him now," Isaka retorted, trying again to slide open the door.

Asahina's large hand grasped his wrist and he looked him straight in the eye. "We should wait. He hasn't properly bathed."

Isaka narrowed his eyes. "So?"

"Its not fair to him if he hasn't even had the chance to bathe."

"It's not fair that Aikawa had me up for three extra hours because she wants to toy around with some little boy like he's her personal baby doll!" Isaka was not a tall man and his shoulders were as narrow as a boy's but he somehow managed to push his way past Asahina and out the door, not bothering with even putting on a pair of shoes.

"I don't want you to be disappointed, Ryuiichirou-sama, but he's not exactly a little boy," Asahina muttered, standing at the top of the stairs with his arms crossed, watching Isaka clatter down the staircase like a bulldog at the sound of Aikawa's cooing from the court yard. The okiya had a traditional floor plan, where the structures of the property opened out to a small courtyard, which was paved by polished wood floorboards that wrapped around the outside of the large main house. Though the okiya itself had over seven buildings, it fit into a smaller area than a regular home in the country and housed only four people at the time.

Standing next to the woman was a young boy, in his teenaged years, dressed in a cheap rags that resembled a makeshift kimono. He was short and boyish, but obviously, not the "little" boy Isaka had been expecting. _Not again, with her girlish stupidity, dammit!_ "Oi, Aikawa! We agreed that you'd be here by midnight! You're three hours late!"

The woman turned to look at him; almost immediately, her pleasant demeanor was washed away with a twisted scowl. "Oh hush, Isaka-san! The poor boy was hungry! I couldn't just leave him that way!"

"What "poor" boy! That's a grown man you have with you!" he barked. Then he stopped his barrage down the stairs, like he'd been frozen by a thought. There was a moment of silence before Isaka came back to life, charging down the stairs with even more force, yelling "Aikawa! Don't you _dare_ tell me that this kid is my recruit! I thought we had a deal! Twelve or younger!"

By now, the boy had dropped his gaze to the ground and was shaking as if Isaka was some kind of demon planning to eat him right then and there. On the other hand, Aikawa was clearly unimpressed with this little snit and was crossing her skinny arms over her chest. "So what? He's seventeen! Four little years don't make _that_ much of a difference," she yelled back.

"_Seventeen_? I thought fourteen at the oldest but _seventeen_? You must be mad!"

"Age doesn't matter! I think he's so well behaved already, he doesn't need you smacking him around for four extra years!"

"No one asked you to think, Aikawa!" Isaka made his way into the courtyard, still without any shoes, glaring at the two with all of his might. He had to squint. It was too dark to make out much of the young boy's face beside his eyes, which were large and watery like he'd just got done from crying.

_How dare she! How dare she bring this filthy brat into my okiya and expect that I'm just going to let him live here like some kind of pathetic squatter! _

Aikawa huffed and rolled her big eyes before turning to the boy and whispering something into his ear with a soft giggle. The boy flashed the smallest of smiles and nodded. Isaka's blood burned.

Finally, Asahina stepped in, already making his way down the stairs. "Ryuiichirou-sama, no more. Allow the boy to bathe and dress himself before you make any rash decisions about him. We're all tired, so please, just go to bed." Then he turned to Aikawa and said, "Aikawa-san, thank you very much for your hard work. Please take care of the boy." He bowed to her and she returned the gesture. From there, the grumbling Isaka was escorted back up the stairs and into his office that led into the bedroom.

"I can't believe her," Isaka huffed as he began dragging his futon out from its place in the closet. "I really cannot believe her! That woman thinks I'm in the business for a poor house!"

"Or perhaps she sees potential," he said. He flinched when Isaka finally wrestled the heavy futon free and allowed it to fall against tatami with a _thunk_. "We should at least give her a fair chance," Asahina continued. "The kid might actually be worth looking at. I noticed, while you were pitching your fit, he has small feet. He isn't getting much bigger from here."

"So?" Isaka hissed, making his way back to the closet to snatch a set of sheets from the top shelf. "He's at the age where any kind of training wont do him good! We can't ask to change the way a seventeen year old boy looks at men!" He came stomping back and threw the sheets onto the futon. Then, he set to taking off his kimono. "We can't have him rejecting clients because he's uncomfortable with serving males!" he said, his angry fingers stumbling at the knot of his obi before he was able to tear it off and throw it in the corner of the room in a huff. Asahina blew a sharp breath and went to collect the tossed away fabric.

"I think it's worth a try, Ryuiichirou-sama. He's come a very long way." He carefully wrapped the obi and set it on top of Isaka's unruly desk before walking over to his master. He stood behind him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man's waist. Isaka squirmed at the touch, but Asahina held tight. Then he leaned down to press his lips against Isaka's smooth cheek. "Can't you wait until tomorrow?" After another kiss to the same spot, the tension in Isaka's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly and he leaned his head back against the man's firm chest.

"Why should I listen to you?" he said in all but a whisper.

"Because, money is everything, right," Asahina replied.

"True."

"And because I know money."

Isaka huffed defiantly and slowly nodded. Asahina always had a way of swaying Isaka's opinion.

* * *

Asahina had been right. Misaki had come a very long way to reach Kyoto.

It had been just like any other normal day—he had woken up, cooked Takahiro his breakfast, gone to school, and came back from home, anticipating an empty house as usual. With his brother working so often, he usually had to cook dinner by himself—not that he really minded much. He loved cooking and had developed quite the skill for it, and since he had a radio, he was able to listen to music while he prepared the meal, waiting for his brother to arrive home.

However that day, Misaki had entered the home to both his brother and a strange woman sitting in their main room of their house, which was merely a two-room home with pitted dirt floors. After some friendly conversation, the woman, explained herself to be Aikawa, and that she was going to take care of Misaki for a while. Confused, the boy asked his brother to explain—Takahiro gave a babbling, miserable response, eventually coming up with, "We will see each other again, very shortly, Misaki. Now, mind your manners while you're with Aikawa-san."

After he'd been told he had to leave – which was a surprise within itself – Misaki only had twenty minutes to say goodbye to his brother before Miss Aikawa was taking him away. It was a painful goodbye—Takahiro was on the verge of tears, begging Misaki to be strong.

From there, the pair spent two whole days in and out of crowded trains that reeked of humidity and close quarters, watching the ocean's horizon disappear behind rolling hills. Once the train stopped in Kyoto, they found a rickshaw that would take them to their destination, weaving them through city streets that glowed with electricity, hints of a modern world Misaki had only seen in pictures but never imagined to be true. Although Aikawa kept him well fed and offered herself for amicable chatting, Misaki felt nothing more than tired, hungry, and alone.

However, Asahina had been very wrong about one thing. Misaki had no idea why he was here. He understood when his father died he left him and his brother with a daunting amount of gambling debts with impatient loaners who were growing anxious for their profits that were already years late. He also understood that his brother, who worked menial jobs around the town, was running out of money, ideas, and time.

But he wasn't expecting to be hauled away by a strange woman in the middle of the night, taken, what he believed to be, hundreds of miles away from his fishing town that sat nestled between the coast and the hills to a city that stunk of pollution and glowed in the dark, like the eyes of a beast. He hadn't a clue where they were headed.

"Kyoto," Aikawa had said on the train, when Misaki finally gathered the nerve to ask. "You're going to a special house in Kyoto for boys just like you."

Misaki didn't want to imagine what boys were just like him – so he didn't ask much more and opted for staring out the window ruefully, wondering why Takahiro would do such a thing to him, without any warning.

He didn't complain though. He knew that despite the suddenness of his situation, he must make sacrifices for his family and this apparently was one of them. It was his personal rule: never be a bother to anyone. That was why he followed Aikawa obediently, listened to her seemingly endless jabber, and never tried to escape. Eventually, he found that he rather liked the woman and decided if he could meet someone so generous, things couldn't possibly be very bad.

The second question he asked, while they had stopped to eat, was: "Will I be working there?"

Aikawa glanced at him and said, "Of course; though depending on how much the owners like you, they'll give you more or less opportunities. You want them to like you."

Misaki nodded, though it was rather obvious that the better liked you were, the more you'd be provided—still, he was desperate to get any information for his success, knowing that he could send all of his profits back home to his brother, at least to keep him afloat long enough to pay their debts in full.

"What's the best job?" he asked.

"Hmmm…well, it'd be difficult for me to explain, but let me put it this way: you'll be very wealthy someday if you're a good boy now."

That was enough incentive to keep Misaki's questions and loneliness at bay.

However, at exactly the same time Asahina and Isaka had stormed back into the office, discussing the potential of their latest recruit, Misaki was still staring up at the staircase, an overwhelming sense of hopelessness taking over him.

They didn't like him.

Aikawa must have sensed his distress. Her hand was placed on his shoulder and her voice soothed, "I told you Isaka-san is a fool. So moody." When this didn't seem to placate the boy she added, matter-of-factly, "In the morning, once he gets a good look at you, he'll beg that you live with him."

Misaki went to sleep in a fit that night, wondering how he could survive, let alone make enough money to help his brother, when the household owner already despised him. The more he thought, the faster his questions directed toward Takahiro – everything from whether he was glad he sent Misaki away, to if he was going to survive on his own.

I must contact him, he thought, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. But, as he sifted through his options, the prospects of that happening were slim. Misaki had no idea how to work a telephone, he didn't even know if there was even phone lines that reached his town…he could try to send a letter, but that would take months to arrive and then waiting for his brother's response would only be longer.

Things seemed hopeless and although he knew he never left his country, he felt as if he were an ocean away from home.

* * *

That next morning, once Aikawa had bathed and dressed Misaki in the servant's quarters, she led him down to the courtyard. It had a mossy look, with lush green bushes and small trees that lined the outside of the little pond. The upcoming winter had already taken its toll on the trees – leaves were floating languidly round pool, creating a competition between them and the pair of turtles who were perched on their stones, staring ruefully at the crowded water.

It was a cool morning. The sky above them was a crisp, clear blue and there were birds twittering loudly as if they'd been up for hours. Aikawa was bringing him down a path that was made of dirt, back to the side staircase that led to the elegant house where the two of them were just last night. In the daylight, Misaki could see that the house itself sat upon foundation stones that stood tall above the little dwelling where he stayed the night. Across from them, on the opposite side of the courtyard, there were four other wooden buildings that were much smaller than the two houses that sat together in a cluster that over looked the pond.

Aikawa, brushed a bit of dust off Misaki's shoulder and said, "Are you ready?" Misaki nodded, though there was a lump in his throat. Was what Aikawa said really true, that Isaka's opinions from last night hadn't really mattered? She had primped him for practically an hour before hand with all kinds of products Misaki had never heard of before, dressed him in a brand new kimono that was more luxurious in cut and fabric than he'd ever seen at home, and gave him her best tips for success – to keep his eyes down, bow deeply, and allow her to do the talking. She glanced at him and smiled, clearly pleased with her work.

Then, Aikawa led him up the long staircase that was located just outside of Isaka's door. "For business purposes," the man once said to Aikawa when she asked. "I wouldn't want potential customers being disillusioned by the mess inside the house." It was clear what he meant, but of course, someone like Misaki would think it was just another eccentricity of the city.

Once at the door, the both of them took deep breaths, one out of fear the other out of pure compassion. Then, Aikawa knocked. "Remember," she said as they waited for a response, "They'll love you."

* * *

Hundreds of times since he left home, Misaki had tried to imagine what his brother's purpose was for sending him away. He'd thought about it on the long train ride to Kyoto when Aikawa was sitting beside him, babbling away, and in the rickshaw that brought them from the train station to the house, and all of the previous night. Or perhaps it was more? Surely, he'd asked himself thousands of times where they were going, who he was going to meet, and what he was doing so far from home. But now, in the office of Isaka Ryuuichiiro, every extreme fate he'd come up with – being kidnapped, perhaps sold against his will to a wealthy family, or prostituted – was seemingly normal in the eyes of his new reality.

When Asahina pushed open the door, the room was quiet and it smelled of dust and perhaps, the lingering spices of breakfast. The room was cramped, bookshelves lined the walls all the way to the ceiling, an old acrylic painting that had never managed to make its way to the wall was propped against the side of the desk, a lump of dirty bed sheets sat in the corner, an empty rice bowl on the desk, serving as a paper weight. Misaki soon gave up examining at the lines of crowded books on the shelves. Instead, he felt himself being scrutinized. Sitting at the desk, Isaka was shuffling through a stack of papers, watching Misaki closely. He cringed, anticipating last night's rage.

"Morning, Aikawa-san…and Squirt," Isaka said, though his voice was tight. Misaki felt the tension in his throat loosen— it was clear that although he wasn't entirely welcome, there much more casual tone, and he took the chance to bow in response. "Call for tea, Asahina," Isaka called to the other man, who was busy sliding the door shut. "Otherwise we'll all be asleep in the next ten minutes."

Asahina came around the desk to his partner's side and nodded, before turning round over his shoulder to the back wall where another door led into the house. He shouted, "Shinobu-san! Bring some tea for Ryuuichiiro-sama and our guests!"

"He better come fast," Isaka said, fiddling with a pen. "There's nothing worse than conducting early morning business without a cup of tea…. Of course, we might be waiting here a while – Shinobu-san has the motivation of a dead horse when it comes to his chores."

Aikawa snorted at this. "Well, you two work the poor thing to death," she said, though her voice didn't necessarily hint she actually felt sorry for the other boy.

"He's a wimp, that's his problem," Isaka grunted. "And a spoiled brat."

The three chatted for a short period of time, about people Misaki had never heard of before, before the conversation wound its way back to business, starting with Aikawa.

Misaki swallowed hard, taking a second to peek up at the two men's eyes. Staring back at him, one with stoic intensity, the other with an amused smirk, their meeting began.

* * *

Ever since that morning, Isaka was acting petulant as usual when he didn't get his way. Throughout earliest parts of their meeting, Asahina held his eyes closely on Isaka, warning him to be gentle with their guest. And at first, it seemed to be working…then he started noticing that the smirk in his partner's voice was far from genuine, and the laughs weren't in jest, but rather, mocking. Annoyed, he was getting rather fed up with his partner's cruelty. It was one thing to come off as strict. However, it was another to flat out tease the kid.

"This is the new boy," Aikawa said, as if Takahashi were already admitted into the house. Then, she nudged Misaki on the shoulder and for a moment he almost forgot his manners. Quickly, he kneeled down into a dogeza, saying, almost robotically, "Please indulge me with your kindness." Asahina smiled slightly at the action…then he smiled some more when the boy tripped over the fabric of his kimono on the way back up, and stumbled slightly. Flushing, the kid set to wringing his hands again, his face beet red. Clumsy. Cute.

The two men stared intently at the boy, both examining him on their own terms.

Physical traits, in Asahina's opinion, even down to the smallest freckle had the capability to charm a potential client. Instead of pointing out the obvious, like the boy's chestnut brown hair and smooth, barely sun-kissed skin, he noted the details – like the slight bug to the kid's eyes and the chubbiness of his cheeks. His height was important, as well, seeing that most clients wanted a diminutive partner, and the young man was slightly below the average height of a teenage boy his age. Good traits, he thought. He already had four clients in mind who'd be more than interested in him.

Isaka, on the other hand, was looking at the down side of things. Asahina could tell, by that irritated little quirk the man was getting in his brow and the way his lips curved into a smile though his stare was intense.

"Come closer," Isaka suddenly said. "Let's have a good look at you." The boy shuffled over, eyes diverted respectfully, doing his best not to flinch, to straighten his back and look firm and undaunted. Isaka was scrutinized him quickly with a curt up-down before he drew away, still wearing that indescribably cold smirk. No wonder the boy couldn't sit still, he thought. Isaka was goading him with that gimlet eye!

"Well, what can you do for us, kid?" he asked, his voice gaining some of its usual perk.

The boy blinked at him, about to answer, when Aikawa quickly said, "Takahashi-san's family is very poor and he wants to work here to pay off their debts."

"Debts?" Asahina looked up in surprise. "What kind of debts?"

"Gambling debts," Aikawa explained.

"Gambling!" Isaka said, his eyes opening wide in exaggerated shock. "That's a very bad trait to have!"

"Gambling addiction isn't genetic," Asahina pointed out in defense and Isaka gave him a sour look in return. "Takahashi-san, have you ever gambled?"

Again, Aikawa answered for him. "No. He told me he never wastes money."

Asahina then brought his attention to Isaka who was still in doubt. "He has good eyes. Look how nice they are."

Isaka leaned in, scrutinizing the boy, before he pulled away saying, "They're just green." Asahina rolled his eyes. He knew that Isaka wasn't one to notice those kinds of things, even if they were crucial to the business they were running.

Patiently, he replied, "Yes, and that's very rare."

"So?"

"Clients like things that are rare, right," Asahina explained. "They want to feel differentiated." When Isaka didn't seem impressed with the answer, Asahina shifted his approach with a sigh, saying, "We're in the business to make money and I can see this one making money. There's something…charming about him."

"That's what people say about me, and you don't see me hosting," Isaka pointed out swiftly.

"Well that's cause you're just a pain in the ass." Isaka just tutted, annoyed yet refusing to accept that he lost at his own game.

Here Shinobu appeared with the tea.

Isaka, who was still a tad bit pouty, exclaimed, "Well, it's about time!" The young blond ignored the comment, scowling as usual. He wordlessly came into the room and lowering down to his knees to serve Misaki and Aikawa, but as he served the two men at the desk, he kept stealing curious glances from over his shoulder at Misaki.

They were probably the same age, Asahina thought, as he examined both their similar boyish features. Though Misaki had a much more pleasant way about him than the troublesome and somewhat moody Takatsuki boy. Shinobu had a spirit of earth, even down to the way the boy was in a constant state of thought – he wasn't quite certain about Misaki on the other hand, though he there was gentleness about his spirit, a good balance for someone as tense as Shinobu. A nice fit, the two of them.

Taking a large swig from the freshly poured cup, Isaka was suddenly in much better spirits. "Y'know, Shinobu-kun," Isaka warned in a sing-song, "You're supposed to serve the tea to your guests before it starts forming little glaciers in it. Much more of this fancy-free shit, and you'll earn your ass toilet cleaning du-ty!"

The blond this time regarded him, shooting a dark look over his way. Knowing Shinobu all too well, Asahina knew there was a snarky response hot on the youth's tongue, but respect reminded the boy to swallow his words and simply reply, "Yes, Isaka-sama." But as the boy turned away toward the door, he grumbled underneath his breath in a sarcastic echo of the other's tone, "Y'know Isaka-sama, there's this wonderful thing called a radiator, and it even has the magical power to heat your home. Too fucking bad you're too cheap to use it, so we're currently trapped on a polar ice cap."

Asahina snorted at the boy, though quickly composed himself when Isaka gave him a questioning look.

Caught, Asahina coughed loudly, directing the conversation back to business. "Ahem…So, how old are you?" Asahina suddenly asked to the brunet teen. "And this time," he added, directing it to Aikawa, "Let him answer. He seems smart enough to reply for himself."

Shocked, it took Misaki a moment to gather the nerve to say, "I'm seventeen…but I'll be eighteen soon!"

Isaka, considering this, said: "Eighteen…eighteen. Neh, Shinobu-kun, how old are you?"

"Seventeen," he replied curtly.

"And how long have you been living here?" Isaka asked. Asahina knew the man was trying to prove a point here, which was rather annoying…and yet, he realized that this was the perfect preliminary for his own plan.

Shinobu on the other hand, had no clue what was going on and was seemingly annoyed with being questioned on such a frivolous topic. He narrowed his eyes and replied, "Four years."

Isaka looked at Asahina triumphantly. "Exactly. Four years and you aren't debuting until next year," he added as a reminder—though he was more certain it was directed toward him rather than the Takatsuki boy.

"I see what you are saying, Ryuuichiiro-sama, but," Asahina started, "Shinobu-kun is not starting his training until next month. He has been working here purely as a hand around the house, meaning he's just as green as Takahashi-kun in the matters of hosting. I can feel the earth in both these boys' spirits, they'll be great friends."

"Yeah, but what about the whole half-year of training Takahashi-kun is going to miss because he's much older? He won't be ready in time for his next birthday," Isaka smirked, clearly thinking he had Asahina beat. But the other man was stalwart both physically and mentally and had already formulated a response.

"Wait. Name the months you were born," Asahina suddenly demanded to the two young boys.

"February," Shinobu said.

"November," Misaki said.

And there they had it. There were only three months apart in age, which suddenly made Isaka's argument futile.

Still perturbed by it all, Shinobu suddenly remarked, "Wait…who is this guy and why does he care how old I am?"

The two men had a silent argument, before Asahina pulled his attention back to the pair of boys (and Aikawa) who looking at him expectantly. Rather then explain things – he figured Shinobu was a smart boy and formulate the technical details for himself – he simply replied, "Meet Takahashi-kun. He's your new roommate."

* * *

**Author's Note: **

Thank you so much for spending your time and reading. Once again, please **review**. If I don't get reviews, I won't write chapters. I get discouraged easily, especially if my audience doesn't indicate their interest. I like to know what you all are thinking! Until next time~


	3. 2

**Author's Note: **Hello everyone! New chapter woot woot! I hope you enjoy! Please favorite/review! And check out junjobingo on tumblr~

* * *

**~2~**

The next three months went by in a blur.

For the first few days, Misaki couldn't decide if he was heaven or hell. Some days, all he could think about was his confusion and misery, wondering if Takahiro was managing to survive without him, why he'd send Misaki off so swiftly, and whether or not he'd ever see him again. Other days, he'd wake up and notice small things, like the mossy courtyard that was lush with green bushes and small trees that lined the outside of the little pond, or the grand size of the main house, and realize that if anything, his brother had done him a fantastic favor.

He woke up one particular morning at his usual time, as soon as the pinkish hues of dawn had reached the window of the servants' quarters where he slept. Green eyes opened to crisp, pale light filtering through the closed window, the January air sticking to the glass in a haze of fog. The icy air nipped around bare toes, through the layers of blankets, sheets, and pants, covering legs. Misaki shivered and pulled closer into the ratty blanket, reaching up to rub a single eye slowly. He fought against the cold air and willed himself forward with a grunt, blinking blearily. Eyes focused on the sights of the small structure that was servants' quarters—the rolling paper-screen door that led to the outdoors; the corner that was crowded with buckets, brooms, and other cleaning supplies; the chipped, wooden chest that held his and his roommate's clothing and possessions.

He heard a snore next to him and glanced down to the mound of blankets beside him, eyes falling on the second young boy who was still fast asleep in a cocoon of fabric. He felt a pang of jealousy at Shinobu's peaceful state, dreaming happily about something or another, the way his characteristic scowl had softened, his breathing smooth and content. A small, rueful smile brushed Misaki's features when the boy sighed in his sleep—sure they were sharing a futon (Isaka made it their punishment after they dirtied Misaki's, eating late night snacks on it) but he found the contact comforting. In a small way, the warmth of another body next to his own reminded him of nights when he slept alongside Takahiro, something he never grew tired of, even long past his childhood.

But dreams could wait. He had a cooking lesson to get to.

Misaki, newly dressed, stumbled out of the room and into the biting morning air, scuttling quickly over to the entrance of the main house. In the back of the large structure, behind the grandiose front rooms that boasted wealth and elegance, there was a humble kitchen and an elderly man, the okiya's cook, waiting for him. They got to work quickly, Misaki heading outside to the large iron kettle that sat near the house, lugging along huge burlap sack of rice and a box of matches, beginning to cook the day's staple meal.

About a month after Misaki had arrived, he had been itching to pick up his cooking hobby again, and after learning the okiya had a full kitchen, he had asked the man if he could help him prepare meals during the mornings. Though the old man was perturbed by the boy's suggestion—he expected that surely the brunet wanted some kind of payment in return—he accepted. Misaki proved to be a good student and provided interesting conversation, so he soon befriended the cook and began spending the mornings at work in the kitchen.

Once he had finished his daily lesson, he thanked the man and headed off to his next job, which was cleaning the windows in Isaka and Asahina's apartment. Realizing that it was still quite early in the morning and there was a possible chance that the two men weren't awake, Misaki gingerly knocked on the wall next to the door, waiting until he heard footsteps come toward the door. Asahina said his good morning to Misaki and let the boy in, directing him to the dirtied windows.

From behind him, he heard Isaka's voice, loudly complaining. "I can't even begin to figure out what went wrong here…it's that son-of-a-bitch tailor's fault, I'm certain of it! He refuses to clean _our_ kimono without extra charge! Only _ours_! That's called discrimination!"

Asahina sighed, as he made his way over to his partner, leaning over the man's shoulder to read over the problematic bill they had received.

"That bastard knows we're doing fine over here, so he figures he can hike his prices up. Did you read it?" he asked twisting around to look at Asahina; the stoic man sighed patiently and nodded. "The guy has the nerve to charge double because the kimono is coming from our place! That's fucking absurd!"

The ranting continued as Misaki cleaned the windows, slightly giggling at the man's behavior. He quickly learning that Isaka, though he had showed an intimidating face to Misaki the first time they had met, proved to be quite the jokester and kept things lively around the okiya.

"Well, there is no other cleaner in town quite like him," Asahina muttered, and then shrugged, standing straight once more. "I suppose we can pay the extra fare until we find a substitute."

"Asahina!" Isaka exclaimed. "That's _exactly_ what he wants us to do! He wants our loyalty to outweigh our common sense!"

Asahina replied with a touch of sarcasm, "Okay, so we'll begin taking the kimono down to the river each week and let the old women there clean them for a couple hundred yen each. Sounds like a _wonderful_ idea."

Isaka frowned. "That's _not_ what I was saying."

"Then what are you saying?" Asahina questioned and his partner's grey eyes blinked in annoyance. "We aren't just going to magically find a respectable cleaner for a cheap price. You know, all the other hosts use his services too; so no wonder he's beginning to raise prices. He's the only person in town who knows how to properly wash kimono."

Though Misaki had only been living at the okiya for a short time, it felt like he'd been as much a permanent fixture as anyone else in the house, but during instances such as this, the brunet was reminded of just how much of the hosting world he didn't understand. He always questioned why Asahina and Isaka made such a big deal out of the kimono—it was apparently a project to maintain the mind-blowingly expensive pieces of clothing, and from Misaki's limited understanding, washing a day's worth of kimono and hakama alone was worth nearly two months of his and Shinobu's salary combined.

Just at this time, the door rattled again, and a petulant voice sound out throughout the office, addressing Isaka. "You said you needed something," Shinobu grunted, peevishly, still disheveled by sleep interrupted.

Isaka brightened and exclaimed, "Ah, yes Shinobu-kun. We have just the job for you." The man stood from his place at the desk and came to the young boy, grinning broadly. "You brought a bucket right?" The boy returned him a moody look, nodding and lifting the bucket to prove its presence. "Good, good," the man leered in an attempt to come off as charming, and the boy just scowled. "Now, Shinobu-kun, the toilet is starting to smell rather…putrid, so I need you to go flush it." Isaka smiled, a wicked glint.

Back then before there was plumbing in most homes, the bathroom was located on the second floor. This was because on the roof there was a tank that collected rainwater. This water poured into the house by gravity to flush the toilet. Although it was well into the winter, there had been little snowfall and therefore, no water to flush the toilet. This meant that whoever had to flush it, needed to go up on the roof with a bucket of water and pour it into the tank.

Shinobu's face twisted into horror. "Aw come on, Isaka-san," Shinobu protested desperately. "It's freezing outside!"

Isaka shrugged, floating over to the desk, where his partner had taken his place. "Ah, but the toilet needs flushing, my dear friend. Run along now!" He gave the boy a quick, dismissive flick of the hand before turning back to Asahina and the stack of papers at hand.

"But, but, but! The roof probably still has ice on it! I'll slip and die!" he wailed.

Isaka, already refocusing on the laundry-cleaning bill, scribbled something down. "That will be one less mouth to feed."

"Isaka-san!" Shinobu whined and threw himself about some more. Finally before the boy relented and head out the door, he narrowed his gaze and hollered, "Why do you give him the easy jobs? Is it because you like him more?" He was referring to Misaki and the brunet boy tensed at the notion—partially because it was true.

Isaka, unfazed, replied to the blonde's back, "Its just that sometimes you're a little shit and he's not. That's the difference."

"No, its because you have a thing for him!"

Eyes narrowed, expression unchanging, Isaka announced, "Your very fast becoming uncute Shinobu-kun. Now, get to work."

"Whatever." The boy rolled his eyes and stormed out of the room, grumbling, "Asshole."

Once the door had been harshly shut—not slammed, because Shinobu had already gotten in trouble for this a few weeks beforehand—Isaka turned to his partner and sighed. "I feel disrespected."

Asahina sighed, a common sound. "Have you ever felt respected by Shinobu-kun?"

Isaka shrugged. "True."

Isaka rounded back to the desk, sitting next to his partner as the man shifted through the papers, scribbling down his calculations and notes. After a few minutes, the two men quietly discussing other matters, Isaka rested his head down onto the bend of Asahina's free arm fondly. Asahina calmly, deftly handled the numbers and data, tired-out but in his element, replying vaguely to Isaka's chatter.

The other man noticed this quickly and grew impatient, realizing that he was no longer the center of his partner's attention. Misaki watched, amused, as Isaka ran through his repertoire of attention-seeking behaviors—he stared at Asahina, pulled him away from his work to show him a photo in a magazine, and even began tapping his fingers along the man's arm. Eventually, he stood up, went behind his partner and swung himself into the space between Asahina's back and the chair. He wrapped his arms over the man's shoulders, nuzzling his nose in the crook of the lighter brunet's neck. Asahina sighed and leaned into the touch slightly, as if he were actively refusing himself from his favorite distraction.

Misaki wasn't trying to watch, per se, but the dynamic between Isaka and Asahina was always interesting to him. It was no secret they were a couple; but there was a certain kind of closeness the two men shared…almost like family. It was charming to the young boy and mystifying at the same time, to see two people who were so deeply in love.

It took him a few weeks to truly figure out the nature of Isaka and Asahina's relationship; in his earliest months at the okiya, he just assumed they were cousins or stepbrothers. However, he was sorely mistaken. One night he'd been summoned to fetch Isaka a bowl of noodles from a local vendor, and was on his way back, he had accidentally walked in on a rather…_private_ moment for the couple. Asahina had been…well, the memory made Misaki blush in horror. Images of the stoic man leaned over his desk, slamming into Isaka as fast as he could, being urged on by throaty whimpers and moans was more than traumatizing for the youth and immediately straightened his ideas about them out.

Misaki worked his way around the room, dusting down the dirtied windows around the office. Isaka stopped him before he was done, calling off the rest of his daily chores for a reason that was beyond Misaki. Isaka usually wasn't one to be this generous…

"Chibi-tan, we have a favor to ask of you," the man crooned, summoning the boy to the desk with the flick of his finger. Misaki made his way to the two men and kneeled down. Isaka began explaining. "Now look kid, I'm feeling charitable today, and I know you've been dying for the day I'd set you free from your duties."

Misaki brightened suddenly at the thought of a day off, thoughts flitting over to a fantasy of lazing around for the rest of the afternoon, perhaps by the radiator where he could keep away from the biting cold.

"…But the thing is, I'm not that nice," Isaka pointed out with a smug look, and the momentary gleam in Misaki's eyes was snuffed. "I have a different task for you instead of chores. Something…_kind_ of important." The man flicked the boy a significant look, with same kind of satisfaction a master has when he dangles a bone over the snout of his hound.

The word _important_ did have a nice ring and Misaki had been waiting for the day to prove himself to his bosses. Cajoled, he swallowed the buzzing anticipation in his throat, just to seem a little less overeager. "A-alright, Isaka-sama! What do I need to do?"

The man grinned widely, as if they'd shared a joke, and said, "Chibi-tan, I understand how anxious you've been to start hosting, and well, I can't let an opportunity like this pass you up without at least giving you a chance. So, here's the deal. I have a friend coming over, someone rather…close to me. However," Isaka sighed, "you can see that Asahina and I are rather busy today and I just can't fit entertaining into my schedule.

I figured it be rude to cancel, especially on such a good friend, so… I assumed you could pick up some quick hosting practice while he's here. Ya know," Isaka gave Misaki a knowing look, "Just keep the guy busy for a while. Nothing with too much pizzazz. It'll be simple."

"You want me to…host?" Misaki breathed, starting to feel his stomach tighten.

"Sure!" Isaka exclaimed. "Just remember all the things we practiced."

Misaki swallowed hard. Isaka and Asahina had given him a quick run down of the reality of world he had stepped into a week after he had arrived in Kyoto—how his purpose at the okiya was far from menial cleaning jobs, and rather one of high class and power.

However…Isaka and Asahina had each given him two "lessons" over the past two months, and although Misaki had a general gist of what he was supposed to do, each time they met, Misaki struggled to retain much of the vital information that held the key to his future. He sighed drawing back to previous memories in an attempt to scrounge up some of the advice his bosses had given him in those first couple of weeks.

~0~

"_Kid…if you think your brother sent you here to play Cinderella, you've been mistaken." _

_Staring down at him, arms crossed, legs dangling off the side of his desk, Isaka Ryuuichiro was once again, discovering new ways to terrorize Misaki. Though they'd only known each other for five days, Isaka had already proved himself to be a jokester, and found most of his daily entertainment in fooling the naïve servant. Misaki quickly realized that his simple, trusting nature just wouldn't do here, so he looked back up at the man skeptically, determined that he would not be the victim of another hoodwinking. _

_However, whatever Isaka was planning, he sure did make it seem realistic…_

_He had summoned Misaki to the office that morning, and together, he and his partner Asahina were waiting. The seemingly fabricated professional atmosphere was actually weighing in on the youth. His stomach clenched nervously and he began questioning whether he was in serious trouble. _

_But the circumstance seemed more and more like a hoax when Isaka began suggesting that Misaki was being trained for a much more important duty than daily chores, and the youth frowned. _

…_But Asahina's expression, though it was always this way, was serious and the comical glint in Isaka's eyes just wasn't there… It was confusing and so realistic, and suddenly Misaki began questioning his own logic. _

_Lost in a typhoon of conflicting suspicions, Misaki listened closely when Asahina said, "Misaki, you're here for a much more important purpose," in his own taciturn manner. "Your brother had much different intentions than we have originally led on." _

_Misaki blinked at the two men, completely baffled by the notion. He had already assumed a list of daily chores he was to complete by sundown—sweeping corridors, clearing futons in the morning, cleaning shower rooms. He had accepted his fate with relief, figuring that his brother had set him up to be hired as an in-house servant, and was expected of nothing more. _

_But now…_

"_Well…what do you mean, Asahina-sama?" the younger boy implored, straining to find the right set of words, ones that were mannerly and respectful, for speaking to his bosses. Though the atmosphere around Isaka was usually very loose, Asahina held a much sturdier, dignified aura. And although the stoic man proved himself gentle and caring, he still commanded a different kind of respect. _

"_As a servant, you will only make you so much money, and we understood that when we negotiated things with your brother," Asahina explained in an even tone. "We want you to be able to pay off your family's debts in a much more efficient manner." Misaki perked at the sound of completing his first and foremost mission, to provide his Takahiro with the adequate funds to foot every single gambling bill that ever haunted his family. _

_Isaka, who was knocking the heels of his feet back and forth on the back of the desk (Asahina cringing slightly each time the sound of his foot cracked into the wood), was clearly growing impatient. "Kid," he suddenly asked. "Do you even know what we do here?" _

_As embarrassing as it was, Misaki had to shake his head. He simply assumed the men were wealthy bankers or perhaps sold clothing items, guessing by the amount of hakama he had found in storage room while cleaning. _

"…_You mean you have no idea?" _

_Misaki shook his head a second time. _

_Isaka huffed a long, dramatic sigh, exclaiming, "Yeesh, you really are a simpleton…" Voice evening out, legs coming to a halt, Isaka leaned back onto the palms of his hands, explaining, "So, basically we sponsor hosts. We take them in and care for them, and in return, they pay us seventy percent of their earnings." _

"_A host?" Misaki asked shyly, feeling a blush scorch down the back of his neck when Isaka's eyes widened. _

"_You don't know what that is either?" the man gaped and then shook his head, bewildered, turning over his shoulder to address his partner. "You know what, how about you handle this?" _

"_Certainly, Ryuuichiro-sama," Asahina said to the vibrant man, and then directed his attention back to Misaki. "Hosts are, in some way, like a geisha, I suppose," the man explained. "You know what a geisha is right?" Misaki nodded earnestly, though slightly put off that Asahina thought he was ignorant enough to not understand a social concept as universal as that. "Well, hosts follow a very similar life. They spend the majority of their work day entertaining clients." _

_He glanced around to the desk in front of him, rustling through one of the daunting stacks of paper that all but covered the mahogany tabletop; eventually, he produced a sheet of paper with ink splotches that read a list of names. "This is a list of client requests—they call in throughout the week to request your presence, whether it be a party or a social event or a private matter. Your duty as a host is to entertain your guest and to persuade them into seeing you again. Our task is to make your agenda and prepare you to meet with these clients." _

_Misaki was shell-shocked. _

_Though he had heard of professions similar to this, the idea that he would soon be living such a life was beyond the farthest reaches of his imagination, and he swallowed hard, staring back and forth between the two men with wide eyes that untrusted their every word. This was certainly one of Isaka's jokes…_

"_Its actually pretty easy," Isaka shrugged. "I mean, you're often working with older, wealthy business men who have grown tired of the daily grind and their crotchety wives and want to light things up by spending a few hours with a refreshing, youthful pal. Now, I warn you, most of these guys find that your charming, bucktooth smile and cute little butt is enough to make them swing in ways they never dreamed of before, and you'll soon become the object of every single one of their wet dreams." _

_Forebodingly, Asahina uttered, "Ryuuichiro-sama…" _

"_Oh, did I say that? I meant to say **s**__**weet**__." _

_Asahina rolled his eyes, which seemed to be a common exchange between the two men, and a moment later, he continued, his sturdy voice reassuring Misaki. "I'm certain it sounds like a lot, Takahashi-san," he said, "but once you start working your way around the city, you will discover clients who will pay top dollar for an hour of your time."_

"_And you know what they'll pay even __**more**__ for?" Isaka questioned, mischief clear in his voice. He answered his own question with a smirk. "Your virginity."_

_**What**__! It struck him like a rock to the skull—his virginity was being sold off? To a man? The boy choked, whipping his gaze over to Asahina, to see it were true—the man looked down at him sympathetically and he glanced back to Isaka in horror. Without realizing it, Misaki's breaths had grown unsteady, swallowing hard to try to even them out. _

_Several quiet moments passed, and eventually Misaki spoke. "…Wait, so is this why Shinobu is at the okiya too?" he ventured, sounding strained. The two men nodded. "And this is why I'm here. To entertain…men? Like a prostitute?" _

"_Not like a prostitute," Asahina quickly corrected him. "You sell your virginity only for the purpose of finding a danna, a patron who promises to support your living expenses for as long as you are hosting. You can only make money if you have a danna…being a host is very expensive and Isaka and I only pay for so much. And once you have secured that benefactor, you are only required to hold a sexual relationship with that man. You will still meet with other clients to make money, but your relationship with your patron is utmost important." _

_Misaki stared up at the man, horrified. _

"_Precisely," Isaka chirped. "See, isn't this nice and simple?" _

_Misaki wanted to say no, but his tongue remained still within his mouth, lips thin, a general queasiness having briefly swept over him at the bewildering circumstances, which were starting to sound less and less like an innocent joke and more like a cruel punishment. The worst part was…this wasn't a prank. _

_Noticing the youth's nauseated expression, Asahina set him free for the day. It took Misaki two weeks and a long conversation with Shinobu (which really wasn't very helpful) to truly allow the reality of his fate to soak in. All he'd needed was a chance to remind himself that he was doing this for his brother, and once he had, his opposition began to subside, allowing this thought to become is fighting mantra. _

"_For Nii-chan," he told himself. "I'll do anything for nii-chan." _

~0~

Without much true advice to fall back on, Misaki felt his nerves start to sink in. When he really thought about it, Isaka had spent most of their "lesson time" teasing and joking, as usual….

There was certainly no way Misaki would be able to professionally tend to this guest.

Feeling low, the youth made his way out of the office. He was following behind Asahina, who had said he was going to pick out something for him to wear. Although Misaki felt his regular clothes were probably just fine, he couldn't quite argue with his boss, and rather fell behind the man's stride as they made their way down to the first floor, out the door, and toward the structure that stored a plentiful collection of kimono, hakama, and other expensive wears.

Asahina, though he truly felt sorry for Misaki's lack of training, worked quickly and deftly. Misaki had never experienced how elaborate dressing in such luxurious kimono was, so it was strange and mystifying as Asahina worked quickly around him, straightening fabric, tying knots, and folding silk as if it were a simple task—he managed to make Misaki look grand, even as he engaged the youth in a full conversation. He adorned the boy in a husky, yellow kimono and navy hakama, giving him hosting tips as he skillfully worked with the kimono. Though in hindsight, it was a rather simple outfit in comparison to his later ensembles, Misaki had never worn such expensive clothing before and felt his insecurities were hidden under the layers and layers of heavy, stitched material that dressed his body.

From there they headed back to the main house. Isaka was already in the front room, and he was playfully chatting up another man who was dressed in a trim, western suit. The noise of the door opening drew their attention and once the okiya owner realized it was them, he called out, "Ah, finally!"

"Hello," Asahina said, bowing down to greet the guest, who had turned around and was staring curiously at youth. He nodded and bowed in response, though it was distant, attention honed in on the brunet boy.

Then Isaka exclaimed to the man, "Here, here, come meet my newest trainee, Takahashi-san!" He urged the man with a light tap on the back and the visitor stepped forward, eyes still intently trained on Misaki.

"U-uh…" Not sure quite how to respond, Misaki took this as his cue to bow, politely saying, "Hello, I'm Takahashi. Pleased to meet you." There was a moment, once Misaki had completed his bow, where the two of them made eye contact, just a hair of a second, and yet, it felt like a lifetime—they pulled away from each other, the guest swallowing hard and Misaki averting his gaze, embarrassed by the attention.

Then, the man repeated the greeting, saying in a low, smooth voice, "Pleasure Takahashi-san, I'm Usami Haruhiko."

~o~


	4. 3

**Author's note: **Hey everyone! Sorry this chapter is really, really, REALLY late. I got back to school and I've been working on different things so this was kinda pushed to the back burner for a while. But I finished, and as an apology, I wrote an extra chapter (yay me). Please enjoy!

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**THREE**

"Well…"

"So…"

Things were not going easily. Misaki had taken Haruhiko to one of the front rooms and set to serving him tea and conversation, hoping that he could pass the next two hours with ease. However, the odds were against him—seeing that he had no formal training and he was terribly clumsy. Plus, Haruhiko Usami was not the easiest person to talk to.

It wasn't that Haruhiko wasn't nice—that was far from true. Moments after they had sat down, and Misaki had spilled some tea on the table, he expressed his understanding when Misaki scrambled to explain his error, dismissing any embarrassment the youth felt by his lack of experience by comparing this little date as a training round. Of course it wasn't said as easily, and it took a few minutes for Misaki to decipher what the man had said. Haruhiko was a very calculative man, who analyzed every word he said, as if he refused to allow simple, thoughtless idea to be uttered by his lips. To add onto this challenge, Haruhiko was the type of person who only spoke when prompted and otherwise had no input, no matter the topic. Misaki had tried just about everything, from the weather, to their hobbies, to how Haruhiko met Isaka, and at this point, he was running out of ideas.

The conversation, like freshly cut wood, refused to catch a spark, thus the barrier that separated them.

For Misaki, it was difficult to decide what to say, especially to someone who looked so modern and wealthy, especially when he spoke so eloquently—and although Misaki himself was dressed in silk, no amount of clothing could cover the hints of his humble past that manifested themselves through his conversation. He shifted awkwardly, rolling conversational questions around in his head over and over again, just to make certain they were adequate for such a setting.

"Um…so Usami-sama," Misaki started, fingers heading aimlessly toward the hem of his hakama, rubbing the fabric between the pads of his fingers nervously. "Do you live here in Kyoto?"

"Yes. Though it's a district away from here."

"Perhaps I've been there," Misaki considered conversationally, adding a little shrug for extra measure. "I've walked around Kyoto a little bit, here and there?"

"Certainly not." Haruhiko stated, flatly. "It's a car drive away at least."

"Oh…" Misaki's face fell slightly, but within a beat, a new question popped into his head. "So then you must have a car!"

"Yes. But it's nothing special."

"Ah…" Misaki stopped, uncertain of what to say next. Clasping his hands together, brows starting to curve inward with worry, Misaki was beginning to feel the tides of panic rushing in. "Umm…"

It was silent for a moment, Haruhiko diverting his eyes away from Misaki and toward his hands, as he vacantly stared at the knobs of his knuckles. This was bad. Really bad. If a man found more interest in his knuckles than your conversation, you were surely as dull as skipping stone. He wondered how Haruhiko would report this practice date to Isaka…the thought made Misaki's stomach turn, realizing if Isaka didn't see any potential in him, he'd never given another opportunity to prove himself again. Meaning, he'd never amount to anything more than a houseboy, and therefore, would never be able to pay off his father's debts for his nii-chan.

Determination rose up within him and with that, he tried again. "Umm…What is your job, Usami-sama?"

Haruhiko, who had distantly fixed his eyes on the table during lull of their conversation, glanced up at Misaki and replied, "I currently am working for my father's bank."

"Oh…so you count money?" Misaki pondered, pursing his lips as he thought of ways to supplement the conversation. He really didn't know much about banks… Then, in conversational way, Misaki exclaimed, "Wow, Usami-sama, you must be very good at math!"

Haruhiko, for the first time in their conversation, broke into a smile. Then he began to laugh—though it was tight and constricted, it was still enough to be considered a chuckle and Misaki's chest constricted in horror, realizing that perhaps he had said something terribly stupid…

"Takahashi-san, although I work for my father's bank, I do not actually work inside a bank." Haruhiko bellowed a few more chuckles before he explained: "I'd be up for weeks if I had to count the funds for the higher accounts we handle."

Misaki blushed, turning his gaze downward toward the bulbous convex of the porcelain teapot, regretting he'd even spoke up at all. Haruhiko must have noticed his sudden bashfulness—a moment later, an even voice, cleared of any amusement, said, "Takahashi-san, there's no reason to be humiliated. I wasn't clear." The brunet, blush deepening in hue at the mention of his sheepishness, forced his eyes upward so he and Haruhiko were directly looking at one another.

"I'm sorry. I clearly said something very ignorant," Misaki muttered, his voice trembling on the rocky surface of his embarrassment and defeat.

"Takahashi-san, you have in no way offended me." Then the man paused, his brow furrowing as if he wasn't quite sure of what to say next. Eventually, though his voice had lost much of its certainty, he chuckled nervously, and said, "Actually, I thought it was very…humorous of you."

Misaki flushed again, though this time it was for being so openly complimented. Seeing the boy's response color the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, Haruhiko's lips broke into another smile.

Misaki, glancing upward, studied him for a second. He examined the way Haruhiko grew uncomfortable at his expression of emotion and quickly forced his smile down by lifting his long forgotten cup to his lips. He tipped the porcelain backward, but it was clear there was no tea left in his cup—Misaki noted that the man didn't even swallow.

At this realization, the youth pointed out softly, "Ano, Haruhiko-san…it seems you would like some more tea." Misaki reached over and lifted the pot by its handle, indicating that he still had much left to share.

This time, it was Haruhiko's turn to grow embarrassed. He swallowed hard, eyes drifting downward for a beat…then, he looked back up and when he was met with Misaki's smile, he too found himself smiling.

"Certainly, Takahashi-san."

~o~

Three days later, at just after one o'clock in the afternoon, Shinobu Takatsuki was standing outside the home of his lessons teacher, which was conveniently located around the corner from the okiya. Staring up at the bamboo gate that separated the street from the front door, the youthful blond lay in wait. A bucket of arrows strapped to his back along with his bow, Shinobu rang the cowbell that dangled near the door, each clang that resonated down the crowded corridor of homes sent a jolt of excitement straight to his heart.

As he waited, the youth's grey eyes indulged in the lacquer carving of the homeowner's kanji in the wooden door, the name, "Miyagi", rolling off his tongue deliciously. Everyday for the past three years he'd read that same address name, and yet the richness of the words—which were smooth in the rough wooden grain like chocolate—was enough to leave his senses mesmerized. That is, until said man arrived at the door.

Then, the waves of a whole new sensory tempest rolled in on the boy.

"Shinobu-chin, you're early today," the man, Miyagi Yoh, commented, crossing his arms over his firm chest. Through the bars of the gate, Shinobu peered up at the man, fingers looping around the thin cylinders of bamboo—it was somewhat peculiar how such a simple action made him feel that much closer to his teacher. Thick black hair, firm jaw line, tightly roped muscle underneath the navy pinstriped kimono that cut just at the curve of the man's collarbone. Blue eyes regarded the blond, lips quirked in the slightest bit of a smile.

Miyagi Yoh. The man he'd fallen in love with nearly four years ago when he had moved into the okiya.

It took a second for Shinobu to sort his thoughts, discarding a slue of silly, kiddish responses until he formulated his answer, giving a half-committal shrug as he pulled away from the gate. "I figured I could ask you a few extra questions, if you don't mind."

"It's never a problem, Shinobu-chin. I'm always impressed by your enthusiasm to learn," Miyagi said as he made his way down to the little entryway and slid open the gate, then turning back around as he led the boy into his home. Shinobu tapped his shoes off in the outdoor genkan and followed behind the man wordlessly, taking in the essence of Miyagi's home in full. Though it was a familiar sight to the youth—the wooden walls, and tatami floors, the ornately carved desk and folding screen that religiously greeted them in the front area of the home—he always felt a sense of awe each time Miyagi led him into his household. There was something earthy about the man's residence, which filled him a sense of peace.

Plus, he enjoyed the raw masculinity that exuded itself throughout the décor of the home, knowing that there was no wife or girlfriend around to be imposing her feminine input. Shinobu naturally knew this, seeing that he spent a great deal of his time taking archery lessons from Miyagi—five days a week, every week, so certainly the boy had gathered quite the bit of knowledge about the man through casual conversation alone. He knew of a failed marriage and a few past girlfriends—Miyagi was always jabbering his rueful advice about staying from women, warning grimly, "They will plot against you, my friend."

Psh, if only Miyagi would notice Shinobu pined only for his attentions…

Miyagi's voice drifted over his shoulder as he walked, though his tone grew wary, slightly dubious. "I'm not quite certain what questions you could possibly ask me at this point, though. Your archery skill levels have long exceeded my own."

This was a reoccurring conversation between the teacher and student—Shinobu had already had his answer formulated. "I need to work on my mechanics," he replied simply, speaking to the man's back. He threw in, "You're the one that always says no matter how much training someone can receive, they will never succeed without a strong grasp of the fundamentals," just to kill any extra argument the older would have had. Miyagi puffed his cheeks out at the sound of his words being used against him, and he muttered something about teen brats and their damn memories.

The house itself was two stories high and broken into two different buildings. The building they were currently in which housed Miyagi's entertaining rooms, led to the courtyard through a paper screen door. Open wooden corridors looped around the courtyard, connecting the second structure that acted as Miyagi's main living quarters, to the rest of the home. The courtyard itself was a grassy area where a few shoots of bamboo and grasses rooted themselves. This was where Miyagi had designated their lessons to be, a target at one side of the property, a bucket of arrows at the other.

Once the two men were situated, Miyagi clapped his hands together and said, "Alright kid, show me what you've got. I'll look for any problems in your form."

And with that Shinobu raised his bow, easing his shoulder downward, and breathed in—and in a swift, fluid motion, the arrow burst from the string, and moments later the sound of the sharp tip piercing the wooden target revealed that the arrow had reached its destination. A bull's eye; just like always.

"Well, well, Shinobu-chin," Miyagi said, making his way over to the youth, hands clasped together pensively, expression conveying a mix of impression and bewilderment. "It's curious how you claim you need to continue improving, and yet, you hit bull's eye every time."

Shinobu, who was still lowering his bow as he examined the results of his shot, glanced over his shoulder at Miyagi and frowned, saying, "Just because I'm good doesn't mean I'm perfect."

The man fixed him with a patient look. "Kid. You're never going to reach perfection underneath my training." He turned at this heading over to hand Shinobu his next arrow, as he added, "The sad reality is my archery days are long over."

"But clearly you haven't forgotten much," Shinobu protested, even as he prepared himself for his next shot, lining up the arrow and the bow in unison. But before he got himself into the proper stance, bow still limp in his hands, he glanced over at the man and said, "It's a matter of muscle memory and no amount of time in the military will make you forget that." And with that the blond fired off his second shot. Once again, the arrow hit the center circle with calculated precision.

Miyagi had been enlisted when he had turned eighteen years old leaving behind his dreams of studying archery and literature, like a samurai, behind. However as a young officer in the Japanese military, Miyagi had gotten into a terrible knife fight during an attack outside of Shanghai, and ended up losing a lot of blood in the battle after being brutally stabbed twice in the stomach. During his healing time, the man had announced his dismissal from the military, to much surprise and disappointment of his unit. Although the man had become well respected and revered in his position, the day of that battle had left an impression on Miyagi—more than just the scars that slashed his arm and roped down his abdomen, where two vicious gashes lied. He never spoke of it directly to Shinobu, but the blond understood that something about the face-to-face combat, perhaps realizing that war was more than just numbers but rather, people, bothered the man very deeply. Miyagi tried to play off the scars whenever the youth inquired, but during the summer months, when the man wore no more than a tank top and trousers, the blond couldn't help but take in the man's wounds with a curious glance.

However, the scars never scared Shinobu away—in fact, he felt each cut told the story of rugged kind of heroism and strength, something that Shinobu found very intriguing and handsome.

Shinobu, as he imagined the powerful image of Miyagi dressed in uniform, gold buttons glittering proudly against the heavy canvas of his hunter green jacket, lost track of his body's precision and his next shot ended up dangling near the edge of the target board. He blinked, shaken from his fantasy, as he gaped at the poor performance.

"Ah, you were too tense that time," Miyagi's disheartened voice drifted over from his stance on Shinobu's side, and the blond felt his competitive side cringe as the man came forward to correct him. Shinobu glanced over at the approaching man, with a little quirk of annoyance in his brow. Nothing was worse than being called out by the man he was trying to impress…

There was a beat, where all Shinobu could hear was footsteps as they made their way through the crunchy grass, and suddenly Miyagi was standing close behind Shinobu. The new proximity between them unraveled the boy's irritation as a flustered chill caused every muscle in his body to tense for a second. Miyagi must have noticed this, because he chuckled slightly, and as embarrassing as it was, Shinobu reveled in the sound of the man's amusement. Miyagi's voice picked up a huskier hue during the winter months that exuded an intoxicating level of masculinity over the young blond.

"I've been noticing," the man said, his voice dipping into a low hum, as his hands came forward, touching the blonde's shoulders, "that your shoulder is dipping down when you release the arrow. It's because you tense up right before you release." Shinobu, even through the fabric of his jacket, felt Miyagi firm but gentle fingers as they guided his arm. His voice was low and smooth and it practically sounded like a purr as he instructed, "Now relax."

Shinobu had no idea what Miyagi's face looked like, because he was staring off at the target with wide eyes, nodding at Miyagi's words. He knew what to do—he'd done it 100 times before, but Miyagi's instructions gave the youth new determination to strive for perfection. "A-alright, Miyagi."

He felt the man take a step backward, away from him, and he shivered at the loss of the warmth, the scent, the handsome voice. Taking a deep breath, Shinobu prepared himself again, eyes locked on the target, breathing even, bow and arrow raised.

"Remember," Miyagi kindly reminded, and Shinobu took a second to glance over at the man, his raven hair being tussled by a particularly strong gust of winter air," Keep relaxed." Shinobu nodded, snapping his attention back to the target, to keep from holding his gaze too long. He didn't want to seem desperate. Though he'd admit that he much rather be staring at Miyagi than the weather worn target that had been battered from years of arrows splintering the wood.

Actually, he much rather be inside Miyagi's home discussing literature, or politics, or whatever the man desired, where the two of them could look at each other eye to eye for hours on end, without any restraints or distractions. He'd been yearning for such a day for quite some time now, and although he had managed to convince Miyagi to show him around his extensive library one afternoon after lessons, their pesky teacher and student relationship kept the man from expressing himself as fully as Shinobu would have hoped. If only he could strip his image of a student in Miyagi's eyes…

Luckily, he had one great opportunity for show casing his mature image: in a few months, he'd be eighteen, which meant he'd begin his hosting career. His plan was to prove himself as an adult to Miyagi by hosting for him—in his most lofty fantasies he pictured himself seducing the ex-officer with a single evening together. However, Shinobu preferred to be realistic and decided that it would probably take a few times for Miyagi to truly develop a romantic interest in him. Not that he minded much. He wanted the man to fall in _love_, not lust.

And most importantly, he wanted Miyagi to understand that he was soon to be in the market for a patron…and if he were truly in love, he'd certainly pay a fair dividend to bind himself to the youth for life. It was destiny's calling, Shinobu decided, and he refused to ignore her so blatantly. But first, he'd have to figure out a way to keep nurturing his growing relationship with Miyagi—and their shared interest in archery was the perfect means of doing so.

He fired once: two inches off from perfection. The second time he hit dead center.

He was consumed in his own thoughts, remotely staring off at the target though his success hadn't quite registered. From behind him, he heard the distant sound of clapping and Miyagi's voice, calling out, "Great shot, kid!"

Shinobu smiled slightly, nibbling at his lower lip, the warmth of a blush working its way across his nose and cheeks. As he regarded Miyagi, who was sitting on second stair that led up to the walkway, hair tousled, eyes bright, Shinobu decided he had never wanted something so passionately before in his entire life.

Certainly, he'd do anything for him.

~o~

Miyagi Yoh, with his chin cupped in his palm, lips pursed slightly, was carefully examining the gait of his archery student. Part of him was amazed that the young blond was so skilled with a bow; his other half was then perturbed as to why someone as talented as him was taking lessons from a washed up military officer who hardly picked up a bow and arrow in the last ten years.

He knew Shinobu had taken quite the liking to him, which he was honestly glad for. He could only imagine the struggles that the youth faced on a daily basis working for a male hosting okiya. Miyagi was personally against the idea of bargaining off the innocence of teenage boys to wealthy businessmen in order to make a profit, and at first he was wary moving into the home next door to such an institution. However now, he found a sense of moral relief knowing that he was making some kind of positive influence on one of the residents, even if Shinobu was…rather difficult sometimes.

_Moody teenage boys_, he thought with a helpless shrug, watching the blond march over toward the target to reclaim his arrows.

"Ah, Shinobu-chin, it seems the student has outgrown his master," Miyagi pointed out amiably, though he really meant his words. He wondered how much longer these "lessons" would continue at this rate. Not that he minded teaching the boy per se, but rather he was growing anxious at realization that he'd reached the extent of his advice and was currently bullshitting his way through.

"No, no," Shinobu replied quickly, waving a dismissive hand. "You're just fine at archery. Certainly better than me." Although this was proper politeness, Miyagi sensed the ulterior motive behind the words and his brow furrowed slightly.

"Let's face it Shinobu-chin," Miyagi huffed as he pushed himself up from his seat on the stair, "I'm better suited with a gun nowadays."

Shinobu shoot Miyagi a look. "But a bow and arrow is more romantic."

"I'm not trying to be price charming, Shinobu-chin."

"You don't have to be price charming to be impressive," Shinobu pointed out, dryly. "Anyone can shoot a gun." Miyagi flicked a cool glance over, met Shinobu's earnest grey eyes, a measuring cast to them as he regarded him.

"Really?" Miyagi questioned, conversationally. "I'd beg to differ."

Realizing that he'd backed himself into a corner in this argument, the blond swiftly changed the subject. "Anyway," he reasoned, looking away to focus on the target, trying to visualize the problematic gait of his arm as he followed through his shots. "I thought you preferred archery because it's an art."

Miyagi sighed apprehensively, caught once again in his own words. "Well, yes, I do appreciate archery more as a form of historical _sport_—however, after all those years using guns and knives, I consider archery something to watch and enjoy rather than torture myself and others by pretending I'm some kind of archer."

"I don't understand that," Shinobu replied stubbornly. "There's no reason to discredit yourself for something you're good at.

"Its just…" He paused, plunging his hand into his pocket to dig around for a cigarette, unsure of quite how to respond. He ended up redirecting his student's attention by sighing, "Shinobu-chin, just focus on the target right now."

The blond whipped away and he didn't have to look to tell that the kid rolled his eyes. Shinobu shot off a few more successful arrows, before lowering his bow to his hip to say, "Did you know that my birthday is coming up soon?"

Miyagi, puffing away on his newly lit cigarette, stopped and raised his brows. "Really?" He wasn't quite certain what made the boy bring such a random topic up, but he assumed it had purpose, seeing that Shinobu was a rather pointed young man. "I honestly had no idea."

"You know, when I turn eighteen," the boy continued from over his shoulder, making his way toward the target once more to recollect his arrows, "I have to begin looking for a danna."

"Really now," Miyagi inquired, in a noncommittal way. "Seems a little young."

"No, I'm just fine." Shinobu reached to the target, yanking the arrows free one by one by their shafts. "But, I thought you should know that."

Miyagi cocked a brow. "…Why is that?"

"Well, I'm just saying," Shinobu sighed, in a elusive way. "Maybe you should consider having me host you sometime." He stopped; then quickly added, "It would be good practice for me."

Oh. Miyagi was certainly a bit curious at the random request, but he couldn't refuse the boy, especially when he was simply asking for guidance. If anything, Miyagi thought rather archly, this was a very important time to show the boy his support, and even if it meant playing tea party with the kid for a few hours, so be it.

He leaned his elbows back against the wooden step behind him, taking a long drag from his cigarette before he replied, "Certainly. Whatever you need, my friend, I'm here for you."

~o~

* * *

**Author's note: **Thank you so much for reading this! Please, if you have the time, review or favorite/follow the story. Just the smallest input is enough to make me smile! Once again, thanks everyone!


	5. 4

**Author's note: **Currently I feel like a BAMF right now since I finished two chapters in one night (WHAT WHAT!) Actually, it takes me a lot longer than that to brainstorm/write/edit/publish, but I found out that I had a few unfinished chapters lingering around, so I decided to crack down and finish! Now if only I could find that inspiration for my economics homework -_-"

Thanks so much for reading!

* * *

**~4~**

The next day, Isaka thanked Misaki for his hard work, though it was in the most peculiar of ways.

That morning, while Misaki and Shinobu were chatting and sweeping the dirt corridors that encircled the outside of the main house, Isaka stalked his way over, wearing the most colorful of grins. "Chibi-tan!" he called out, once he was halfway down the main staircase, his hands cupped around his mouth, drawing specifically the blonde's attention.

Shinobu, broom going still in his hands, shot Misaki a curious look as he said, "Uh, Misaki," he said, gesturing over his shoulder with a flick of his head, "Isaka is roaming around, looking for you."

"Isaka?" Misaki swung his head around, and sure enough, Isaka, wrapped in a western-looking coat, was heading down the stairs toward the two boys, his enthusiastic expression was almost blindly vibrant on the dismal backdrop of early January fog.

Shinobu glanced over his shoulder a second time, in the direction of the approaching man, before turning back to the brunet again. "What on earth did you do to make him like _that_?" he asked in a hushed tone, pulling a face of utter incomprehension. "He never comes out here! And he's never this friendly in the morning." Misaki shrugged helplessly, leaning his broom against the side of the house, before stepping forward, closing the distance between him and Isaka.

"Umm, good morning Isaka-san," Misaki tried to say in good spirits, though there was still a shadow of his puzzled expression that remained in the cast of his eyebrows.

"Chibi-tan, I've got to say, I underestimated you," Isaka grinned, with plumes of smoky condensation surrounding his mouth with each word he spoke.

"Uh, underestimated me?" Misaki questioned dubiously, not necessarily confused as to why he was _under_ estimated, but rather the fact that he was being estimated at all.

"According to Haruhiko, he had quite the time with you…its rare when a guy like that has a lot to say about somebody. And yesterday, I couldn't get the guy to shut up!" Isaka exclaimed and Misaki noted the slightest shiver in the man's voice as he wrapped his arms over one another. But the fire of his enthusiasm kept his expressions as lively as ever because his eyebrow suddenly quirked in a mischievous way and his voice dropped practically an octave as he purred, "You must have been a _hell_ of a lot of _fun, _Chibi-tan."

He winked after he said this, insinuating something sexual though Misaki couldn't quite figure out what. As he blinked at Isaka, then turned back to Shinobu, confused and worried that perhaps the man actually he thought he and Haruhiko had…those kinds of relations. Shinobu scrunched his nose, confused by the conversation and the implications that it had…and Misaki's eyes widened, realizing if anyone had been mislead to think his relationship with Haruhiko had become sexual, was Shinobu. Misaki abruptly shook his head and opened his mouth to protest this accusation…

But Isaka had already moved on, saying, "Actually, there's even better news. After yesterday, Haruhiko was insisting that he see you again."

"Really?" Misaki asked, surprised, and Isaka nodded.

"He thought you were quite the charm."

"_Really_?" This time, both boys chimed in.

Isaka nodded smugly, turning to the young blond to say with all the pride of parent to say, "Seems we taught our little Chibi-tan well, neh Shinobu-kun?"

Shinobu just rolled his eyes at the house-owner's antics and patiently nodded. "Yes, it was all your _insightful_ expertise at work," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"Green eyes shifting past them, Misaki wondered, "Wait…did he say when he wants to see me again?"

Isaka stopped, paused for a second to think, and then shook his head. "No, he didn't make an official appointment yet," the man replied, his voice gaining a little bit of distance as he tried to remember the details of the conversation. In typical Isaka fashion, he flashed a grin and said, "I think he's finding _just_ the right place to show you off. Just give him a little time, alright?"

Misaki nodded, though he wasn't certain exactly what showing him off specifically entailed. Haruhiko hardly seemed like the type to want attention…

At this pause, Isaka suddenly announced, "Well, I'm going to get myself out of this freezing cold before I meet an untimely fate," clapping his hands together loudly, causing a large stir of birds to flap erratically over head. Once things had settled, the man continued with, "I'll see you around, Misaki-chan! And Shinobu-chin," the man said, his voice dipping into some kind of coo, "Someday you'll impress me too. All it takes is hard work and a sprinkle of fairy dust." And with that, the man turned around on his heel and headed off, audible cursing drifting down the coridoor as his steps thudded dustily, disturbing the dirt and causing it to catch the swirling air and scratch against his bare ankles.

Once the man was a distance away, Shinobu rolled his eyes and wandered back to work, grumbling about his boss's hijinks. Misaki followed behind shortly after, and the two boys began silently sweeping. Eventually they fell into the rhythm of things, the sound of horse-hair brooms scraping over a medley of dirt, sand, and pebbles all ground into a well packed mix, acted as a backing soundtrack to their conversation.

Then, during one of the valleys of their dialogue, Misaki drifted to a thought, a thought that provoked a strange feeling within him. This sound, the echoing of brooms grating over the dirt as it bounced along the side of the okiya only to dissipate into the early morning silence, was soon going to be foreign to him. He never really thought of it before, how much of his life would change—even down to the basic sounds that he heard each day—once he began hosting.

His date with Usami Haruhiko was only the beginning to this transition from one world and into another, he realized, and for a moment, he felt a mix of nameless emotions, a flurry that left him feeling rather strange inside.

~0~

The longer Misaki resided at the okiya, the more he began to find himself yearning to become a part of the world of hosting.

He started taking interest in the other person who was living in the house, their home's full time host named Kamijou Hiroki. For the first few months, he was a mystery to Misaki—the youth had only seen the man four times, either early in the morning or very late at night, just in passing. Only once had he made eye contact with the man, for a second, before Hiroki continued his way down the hall, as if he'd never even noticed him at all. According to Shinobu, Hiroki was the most successful host Isaka's okiya had ever housed, so he was often busy tending to clients, and in his spare time—which was rare—he locked himself in his personal room, dwelling in privacy.

"He's the devil," Shinobu spat as he retold a story of his encounters with Kamijou. That day, they were cleaning out the shower. "I'm sure of it."

"What do you mean?" Misaki questioned, wide eyed. When he heard about Kamijou in the first place, he could only suspect that the man was stunningly attractive and charming from all the business he seemed to get.

"He's crazy I swear," Shinobu shrugged as he lifted a bucket of water, its contents sloshing down onto the cobblestones below. As he walked back toward the bathhouse, he continued talking, his voice raising just a bit. "Sometimes I think he's been possessed." When Misaki gave him a curious look, Shinobu supplied with a shrug, "If you don't act properly around him, he'll shriek, throw things at you…sometimes I've seen his eyes turn red."

Misaki stared at him, perturbed that the boy talked about such a horrific experience as if it were the most common thing in the world.

The brunet youth's face twisted in horror, suddenly seeing the once magnificent image of Kamijou that his mind had supplied, only aided by the quick glimpses he'd caught during their brief encounters, morph into a wicked mad man with knotted hair and a devil's grin.

Isaka and Asahina had their own opinions about Hiroki as well. Asahina always treaded lightly when talking about Hiroki—apparently the fiery brunet had some unspoken level of power over the man and apparently was not one to be bothered. Isaka, however, had managed to transcend this barrier in a peculiar way that neither made sense to Asahina or Misaki, though he never spoke badly of Kamijou, unless it was in jest.

However, no legend Shinobu concocted or explanation Misaki's bosses could supply quite compared to the real Kamijou Hiroki. For Misaki, their first true encounter was actually an accident, a slip of fate that brought the two of them together.

It was early in the morning when Asahina called Misaki into the office.

He was sitting at Isaka's desk, frantically sifting through haphazard piles of papers with mesmerizing organization that looked like no more than a heap of junk on a desk. Upon hearing Misaki's footsteps, Asahina glanced up eyes weary with exasperation.

"Takahashi-kun, I need you to do something for me," he said. "I'm missing an expense sheet and I've checked the whole place, and its no where to be found." He sighed, running a hand grimly through his hair. "I'm certain Kamijou has it somewhere in his disaster of a room. Can you go see if he has it in there?" He gave Misaki a pleading look, as if there were no worse task in the world.

Misaki had been hearing about this missing paper for the past three days. He couldn't imagine what could possibly be so important about it, but since he was in no position to question Asahina, he nodded, urgently.

"I don't think Kamijou is in right now...but knock before hand, just in case. You know how he is," he said, grimacing. Misaki had no idea how Hiroki was, but Asahina's facial expression was enough of a warning to leave him feeling more than hesitant.

"Um, yes Asahina-san," Misaki offered, before Asahina began describing the paper to him, as if Misaki had never seen printed ink before.

Kamijou's room was at the end of the hall and was the largest in the whole okiya, larger than the servants' quarters and his old apartment combined. It never made sense to him as to why Hiroki needed so much space, until Asahina explained that Hiroki was originally not alone and used to live in that same room with four or five other hosts. "Though, its probably better that he has all that space to himself now," he said. "Its never a good idea to have all that testosterone locked up in one room together." When Misaki gave her a curious look, he added, "They used to get into horrible fights." He never told him specifically what happened, but just from Shinobu's stories alone, Misaki was glad that there were no others living in the room with him either.

However, Hiroki put all of that space to use. Apprehensively, stomach tight, Misaki slid open the door, and glanced around, immediately puzzled. Stopping in the entrance, he peered around the apartment that looked so vastly different that the rest of the house and cautiously entered the room, only to be greeted with an obscene amount of clutter. There were news magazines littering the floor, an empty whiskey bottle on the bedside stand, and a few towels that were left over from his most recent bath. The futon hadn't been moved yet, still dressed with crumpled bed sheets and a heavy quilt that was a lump on the floor. But the most shocking part was the books. Stacks of books were piled high all over the bedroom—not just on bookshelves, though they were full as well. The books that were in Kamijou's apartment were stacked on the tables, on the chairs, around the bed. There were books in the corners of the room, books lining the walls, books thick and thin, old and new. There was even a stack welcoming Misaki at the door. He fell over them and they went toppling everywhere.

"Oh, shoot!" he cursed underneath his breath, throwing himself down to the floor, gathering the strewn books.

Just as he was setting them back up again, he sensed someone else in the room. Tensely, slowly, he turned. And there he was.

Standing there near the bed wearing nothing more than a juban was Kamijou Hiroki, still looking disheveled from sleep. Upon hearing the movement in the room, Hiroki whirled, the confusion in his eyes clear, almost vulnerable, like an animal that had just been cornered. Then when realization passed over his face, his eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Misaki with mesmerizing intensity, his hand gripping onto the wool blanket he was holding, clenching it tight.

This was the first time Misaki was able to truly look at the man—because, he normally ran into Kamijou during the night in passing or just heard him as he strode past, he never got the opportunity to truly _look_ at the man. But now, staring up at him, he could not understand why Kamijou was so very busy with clients.

His facial features were all quite stunning—he had a perfectly ovular face with clean, white skin that reminded Misaki of porcelain, a small mouth with two plush lips, and fine, gingery brown hair. However, no matter how perfect his features were, there was something horribly ferocious about him. His brows were creasing down into a frown and it seemed as if they spent a lot of time there. His eyes were almost the same color as his hair—a soft brown that in any other case would have been stunningly handsome—had a harsh glint to them, a kind of intensity that was almost terrifying. Kamijou's hair was a knotted mess. He had obviously just woken up, the way his voice had a sleepy gruffness to it, but something told Misaki that he didn't spend much time in front of a mirror.

He was dressed in an under robe, that went underneath the kimono to keep the expensive fabric from getting dirty—and although the kimono that Kamijou wore were always magnificently colored and printed, the man's juban was twice…maybe three times as luxurious looking. The fabric was an imperial red with white cut outs of ivory that resembled leaves, each of them ringed with a flicker of gold.

Misaki caught himself staring and immediately threw his gaze back to the floor.

_Oh God. Here it comes. _Fury, roaring anger, perhaps a book to the head…Misaki held his breath, waiting for a response.

"Good morning," Kamijou said, though there wasn't a smile behind the greeting.

"I-I…uh, good morning sir! I'm very sorry sir, but Asahina told me to come in here to look for a paper for him. It's some bill and he's very worried about it. He thinks it may have been misplaced in here," Misaki offered in a whir.

Hiroki didn't say anything for a long while. Misaki swallowed hard, just waiting. Finally, the man just left the side of the futon, went to the table that was pushed against the opposite wall of the room, and simply pulled out a paper from the pages of a book. "Is this it?" he asked, coming to Misaki.

The youth did his best not to flinch, to keep his gaze firm and natural and away from those brown eyes that were just the slightest tint red, but fear constricted his throat. Misaki, to be honest, had no idea what the paper looked like. But the page was filled with all kinds of numbers and markings, so he figured that it had to be it. "I-I think so."

From there, Misaki wasn't certain what to do. Should he leave? Wait to be dismissed? He opted for standing in place, pretending to read over the inked print that was barely legible, waiting for the older man's next move. Finally, Kamijou said, "Alright then," and then turned around on his heel, heading back to his original task, a curt yet effective discharge.

Misaki ducked his head, slightly embarrassed for some reason, before he turned around and started for the door—however, he was cut off swiftly, when he heard Hiroki's stern voice from over his shoulder, command, "…Actually wait. Stay right there."

The brunet froze in place, still facing the door—between nerves, confusion, fear, and discipline, his stomach was beginning to feel heavy, and each step he heard the older man take behind him was daunting. Luckily, before he could conjure up an idea worse than being hit over the head for his bold entrance, Kamijou was saying, "Can you please stop staring at the wall like an idiot and carry this box?"

Misaki quickly turned around—his arms were suddenly filled with a crate box that was surprisingly light considering its size, and over flowing with what seemed to be the pelt of a white animal. When Misaki leaned in to peer inside, Kamijou was quick to scold. "What are you looking at?" he snapped.

"I-I'm sorry," Misaki stumbled for words.

Before he could fully make sense of what was happening, Kamijou was headed back toward the futon, ordering shortly over his shoulder, "Give me fifteen minutes. Wait outside for me with that box. If anyone asks, just say you're doing an errand for me."

Misaki nodded quickly, and before Kamijou could make any more demands, he carried the box out into the hall, plopping down onto the floorboards next to the door.

It was a fur in the box. A fur coat or shawl or something that resembled a dead animal that had once lived a luxurious life with such a lush plume, only to be heaped into a pathetic pile inside of a crate. He sat for nearly thirty minutes as he waited, his fingers eventually finding entertainment in smoothing over the soft, white hair that was poking out of the box, wondering what on earth Hiroki was doing with this fur.

Listening the rustling on the other side of the door, imagining that Kamijou was dressing himself, Misaki leaned his head up against the wall and sighed, bored. What else could he be doing on a day like his, had Asahina not asked him for help in the first place? He realized that there really wasn't much, nothing better than the task of mopping floors or cleaning toilets to return to.

~0~

Forty minutes later, Kamijou Hiroki emerged from his room, ready to leave. His expression softened somewhat, though tension continued to ripple through the air around the two. Armed with what seemed to be a catalogue, Kamijou ordered that Misaki follow him, and he led them down the back entry stairs and out into the courtyard. Heading out the gates, the man explained, "We're going into town." This meant that Misaki most likely had a busy day ahead of him, and thoughts of Asahina's paper slipped away indefinitely—but this work was the sort Misaki was growing used to; straightforward, unobserved, taking orders. Plus, this time, he was getting to explore the busy streets of Kyoto.

As they made their way down the street, Misaki stuck close to Kamijou. He'd never seen a city as busy before—although in retrospect, the streets were far from bustling, with just a few passerby and venders loitering and advertising their wares—and found solace in Kamijou's even, proud stride.

Misaki observed the town silently as he followed behind, trying to soak up all the foreign scenery at their rapid pace. Eventually, Kamijou silently decided on entering a small building that boldly claimed it was the best priced bookshop in this district. Kamijou slid the door open, and then Misaki followed inside, the cowbell attached to the door with a loosely knotted rope, clanging at their arrival.

It was a humble location. The walls, lined with dusty bookshelves that housed mismatched books in size and shape enclosed the small space that apparently doubled as a family's front room. Drawn by the sound, a huge, pudgy man came out from a curtain covered opening that led to the rest of the home, rubbing his wrinkled hands together like the hooves of an elephant. Upon seeing Kamijou, his eyes formed twin crescents and he called in a friendly boom, "Kamijou-san! I thought I just saw you last weekend!"

For the first time ever, Misaki saw Kamijou smile, though it was only a slight quirk of the lips. His voice came much smoother than before, somewhat, comfortable. "I didn't expect to get another package this week, Watanabe-san," he shrugged, sounding half exasperated. "You know I usually don't have the money to be buying books every week!"

"Ah, its because you're popular Kamijou-san. You should be thankful!" The big man tutted, working his way into the room with puffing breaths of exertion. He was huge—larger than Misaki had ever seen a man—swaddled in a pinstriped kimono that seemed as if it had been complied by three regular sized cuts of fabric.

"But they're too much hassle," Hiroki complained, glancing over at the box that was still cradled in Misaki's arms. "It's the third one he's sent this month. Eventually, you'll be tired of buying all my furs," he said.

"I love our little currency though," Wantanabe clucked. "You know, my daughter Ai-chan has fallen in love with the last shawl you brought. She treats it like a pet and carries it around with her. She's even named it Poochiko," he beamed.

Hiroki chuckled, well mannered. "How wonderfully disturbing…Anyway, it's heavy bringing all these boxes down here, so it's quite a bit of trouble."

"Ah, but it seems you've found a friend to carry them for you. " The man's gaze slewed sideways to examine Misaki, his pudgy cheeks shifted up towards his ears in a smile, directly staring him. The closeness of the moment caused Misaki to blush and the man's grin only widened. After a moment, he said, "You always have the cutest accomplices, Kamijou-san," to the fiery brunet, though he was still peering at Misaki with wonder. He turned over his shoulder and said, "Where on earth do you find them?"

Hiroki sighed, turning away from the conversation to browse the shelves upon shelves of books. "He's a new trainee," he simply replied. "Nothing special, honestly."

"But that's his charm! He's just so…common looking," the man clucked. "Though…his eyes…they're quite an amazing green!" Turning himself back to Misaki, the man asked, "What's your name, kid?"

"Takahashi-san, pleased to meet you," Misaki replied with a deep bow. He felt the tension in his shoulders loosen in the presence of this man and managed to flash a nice smile.

Watanabe chuckled. "Even his name is common! So very cute! You can set the box right over here, Takahashi-san."

Hiroki scowled into the pages of the book he was flipping through, but the cowbell at the door cut him off as he opened his mouth to vocalize whatever nugget of bitterness he was preparing to divulge. All three men glanced over at the door. At once, Hiroki and Watanabe both called out at the newcomer, one with a grunt and the other in friendly greeting.

"Akihiko!"

"Usami-sensei!"

Stepping into the bookstore was one of the most elegant men Misaki had ever seen in his life. He was wearing trimly cut western suit with leather shoes that were polished like lacquer, a burning cigarette balanced fashionably between his fingers. White shirt, skin clean as eggshell, lavender eyes, ashy grey hair. _He must be wealthy_, Misaki assumed, eyes fixed on the man as he made his way into the bookstore, wearing an aristocratic smile that wafted handsome pride throughout the room.

Misaki's mind flitted back to the wealthy banker, Usami Haruhiko, and suddenly he wondered if the two men had any relation.

"Usami-sensei!" Watanabe called a second time, waddling his way over to the man at the door. "Two of my most loyal customers in one day! What wonderful luck!"

Hiroki's greeting wasn't nearly as joyful. "What are you doing here right now, Akihiko?" he asked curtly. "I thought you had work."

Usami replied smoothly, "I finished my manuscripts early today, so I figured I'd treat myself to some new reading material." The baritone of the man's voice mesmerized Misaki. "You know, I wasn't expecting to see you here either, old man." Akihiko smirked and Hiroki scowled.

"I'm selling something," Hiroki snipped and Akihiko glanced knowingly over at the box, which had been deposited near the door.

"More fur?" he asked, though it was clear he knew exactly what was in the box.

Hiroki visibly prickled. "Yes," he grumbled, turning back to the book in his hands, looking rather bashful. Then, he looked back up again with new petulance in his voice that gave his words a barb. "This is the third one I've got in the past two weeks," he complained.

"Well, maybe if you stop giving Shinoda-san so many _favors_," he said, fair eyebrows raising in lewd suggestion, "then you wouldn't be in this predicament would you?" Akihiko pointed out, unable to suppress the humor in his voice.

At this comment Hiroki went bright red and hissed, "I do not give Shinoda any kind of _favors_!" Ducking himself back into his book, he dismissively added, "I haven't seen the man in weeks, anyway."

Misaki had no idea who this Shinoda man was or why he was such a humiliation to Hiroki—sometime later on that week, he asked Shinobu and the boy told him that this man named Shinoda was Hiroki's danna. Misaki remembered then from his talk with Asahina and Isaka that each man who hosted at the okiya had a danna who paid for their virginity during their youth and promised to foot much of their living expenses afterward—and in return, the host would be their personal paramour. During this time, it was incredibly exclusive to have a paramour and usually only the wealthiest of men could afford them. In this case, Shinoda was a young baron and could easily afford a host like Hiroki.

Before World War II, Japan had barons and counts, and Baron Shinoda was incredibly wealthy. His family owned one of the city's most influential real estate firms that controlled most of the business building within Kyoto's limits. He was younger than most, only thirty two at the time, and had not only earned the title of baron at such an early age but also, inherited the entirety of his family's holdings, including an estate not fifteen minutes from the okiya. His business interests apparently kept him busy in Tokyo and Hiroshima however, in order to make up for being unable to attend to Hiroki properly, he'd send all kinds of luxurious gifts to him. This bizarre relationship explained the packages of furs, chocolates, hakama, and jewels that made their way to the okiya each week—and Hiroki would then take these gifts and sell them for books to supply his extravagant library.

The two men bickered amiably back and forth as they worked their way around the bookstore, and Misaki inferred that the two must have been old friends, the way they addressed each other so forwardly.

There was a break in the conversation, where Hiroki was questioning Watanabe about a scroll he found in the corner of the room, and for the first time, Usami took the time to regard Misaki's presence. The man turned over his shoulder and glanced at him for an endless moment, holding his gaze much longer than Misaki anticipated. Footsteps approached him. He felt himself blush and knew he probably came off as grimy to the man. Usami was young, fresh, solid and proud, and his voice came smoothly like honey. "Helping Hiroki with his chores today?"

Misaki knew the answer to the question, yet he choked on his own tongue. "Um…yes, I carried the box for him."

"Must be incredibly boring, huh? Shopping with an old fart like him?"

Misaki flushed, uncertain of what he should say. "Uh…well…"

The man smirked, voice lowering just a tad, as if he were divulging the boy with delicious confidence. "It's alright if you tell me it's boring. I can keep a secret."

Realizing he was cornered, Misaki relented. "Yes…I suppose it's quite boring." As the words left his lips, he felt a shock of guilt and fear, knowing if Hiroki heard him he'd certainly be in trouble—probably would lose his dinner privileges for a week. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the man for subjecting him to such danger.

"Such cruel torture for such a young boy." Usami chuckled and Misak couldn't tell if the man was being sympathetic or teasing him. Then his expression grew pensive as he glanced upward, wondering aloud, "Though I suppose there are much worse chores you could be assigned to."

"Yes…though I don't like shopping much. I can never make a decision and I end up getting kind of flustered," the brunet replied conversationally, cringing slightly at the thought of having to choose one or two books out of the thousands of books that lined the shelves. Usami chuckled at this and Misaki, finding some sense of relaxation in the man's amusement, added with a little helpless shrug. "I guess I'm better suited for house chores."

"Ah, we're quite similar," Akihiko pointed out, his features softening ever so slightly. "I don't enjoy milling around stores much either. I much rather prefer the comfort of the home…However, some shopping trips are necessary, I suppose." Then his voice lowered slightly and the man leaned down, so that his shoulder was brushing Misaki's ever so slightly. His scent, a mixture of cigarette smoke and lavish, musky cologne tickled at Misaki's senses, and for a beat Misaki found himself entranced. In a confidential tone, Usami hummed, "Interesting how two kindred spirits can meet in situations much beyond their element…"

Misaki nodded, and for a minute or two, a slightly awkward silence fell over the pair. Usami directed his attention back to his friend and the bookshop owner, drifting back to the wares. His gaze though, continued to be drawn to Misaki, quickly and subtly eyeing the boy until another book caught his attention once more. It happened nearly three times…or at least the three times Misaki had seen him do it. Humiliated, the boy ended up keeping his head down, waiting patiently until Usami had decided on something.

"Well, I've got to be going now," Akihiko announced, once he'd bought a book. "Watanabe-san, I always appreciate your treasures." The pudgy man grinned, pleased. Usami then addressed Hiroki, "You promised you'll be coming over sometime soon, right? I've got a new manuscript in the works and nothing will do it better than a good ol' verbal beating from my closest friend."

"I'm busy too, Akihiko," Hiroki grunted, but when Usami flashed a look of yearning, Hiroki sighed and surrendered. "Well, I suppose I'll be over some time this week," he said, the annoyance in his voice suddenly smoothing out. "So don't plan anything special."

Usami snorted. "Of course, my dear friend." As he pushed his way out the door, he added over his shoulder, "Remember to be nice to your little friend." With that, he gave Misaki a quick wave and the boy returned the gesture to be kind.

"Oh, shut the hell up!" Hiroki hollered in response and they could hear Akihiko's chuckle from outside the shop before the door was slid shut once more.

"He's lucky I'm friendly with him," Hiroki commented sourly, to which Watanabe chortled, enjoying all the banter. The brunet sighed, drawing his attention back in to his original task. He asked Wantanabe which books the man recommended, and Misaki groaned—the man's responses were long and wordy, and after twenty minutes of discussion between the two, Hiroki finally had selected a stack of books to keep as his own. Coming forward, placing the pile of books onto the chipped wooden desk that doubled as a checkout counter, Hiroki was looking rather pleased with himself.

They exchanged the fur with the books and headed out shortly afterwards, Misaki carrying the same crate, this time filled with a much heavier load of books. Though they had spent practically an eternity in the bookshop, Misaki was still thankful that Hiroki brought him along and his daily chores had long been forgotten. Plus, he had a glimpse into the mystery that was Hiroki Kamijou's life, which was more than worth the lengthy trip.

Feeling accomplished, he trailed behind Kamijou wordlessly, marveling about the day's events—the city, the crowded streets, and the peculiar man that was Usami Akhiko.

~0~

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**Author's Note: Thanks for reading. I made this chapter extra special for you guys so please review, favorite, and follow! THANK YOU! **


	6. 5

**Author's Note: **Happy Valentines day everyone! Since its supposed to be a romantic day (...right? lol) I decided to give you guys a little romance. Thanks for reading! Please favorite, review, and follow!

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**~5~**

Night had long fallen, draping the streets outside the okiya. Hiroki was waiting, stowed away in one of the empty rooms that used to house servants long before it had been converted into a storage room, which gave him the perfect opportunity to read. Surrounded by worn futons, tattered blankets, and boxes of cleaning supplies, he was granted the absolute solitude he constantly yearned for during his evening liaisons. He decided to bring the book he had purchased last week. It that had been sitting among its siblings for far too long, at the top of a quickly growing stack near his futon that was already leaning its weight into the wall, like an old man on a crutch.

Hiroki found these hours of the night were his favorite, the time when no distraction could yank him away from his novels. Hiroki flashed a quick smile when the pages rustling promisingly as he opened it. He enjoyed the little whispers that novels spoke, and eventually learned that each book had a different voice, depending on the genre or how many times he had already read the story. But he needed light. He cringed at the fact that there was no electricity in the servants' quarters and he had no choice but use candles. He was lucky to have electricity in his bedroom. The danger that candles presented his library was too great, and although he had a box of matches and a few lopsided candles in the chest beside his futon, he was constantly wary of fire and only used them during power outages.

He brought the candles and matches along with him, placing five candlesticks close to him, in order to keep a close eye on the flames. He was just holding out the lit match to the charred wicks when he heard it, no louder than a whisper.

There was another tell tale rattle at the okiya's gate moments later. His heart skipped a beat, and he huffed at his own silliness, blowing out the match and the candle before pulling himself to his feet and heading out into the night.

Sneaking up to the gate was always a difficult task, particularly because he had to pass the main house, where Isaka and Asahina were sleeping, their apartment window cracked open, revealing each footstep, each whisper, each gasp that happened to murmur throughout the night. He treaded lightly, walking along the dirt corridors that encircled the main house, then along the cobblestone path that lead to the gate.

Behind the bamboo fence, something shifted and suddenly a quiet voice broke the silence. "H-Hiro-san?"

Hiroki cringed a bit at the sound of the whisper cutting through the heavy air…then his voice escaped before his pride could control it, and he replied, "Yeah, its me Nowaki."

He didn't have to see it. The boy's mouth curved broadly, as if they had shared a joke, and he said, "I hope you don't mind, I came early."

Hiroki didn't mind at all. "Idiot, quit your chatting or you'll cause problems," he grunted underneath his breath, gently rattling at the lock on the gate until he finally pried it open, letting Nowaki in.

A pair of blue eyes that practically glowed in darkness was staring down at him, as if light rays worked those irises instead of muscles. "I'm so happy to see you," Nowaki confessed, buoyantly, stepping forward to wrap strong arms around Hiroki's waist, nuzzling his nose in gingery hair—Hiroki felt the chill on Nowaki's skin and wanted to ask him how long he'd been waiting outside (since sometimes he wouldn't hear the younger man's painfully subtle signals of his arrival for thirty minutes at a time) but the sensations of the hug washed over the question and left him gaping stupidly like a goldfish.

"Oi! Someone will see us!" he finally hissed, prying the man off of him with a harsh shove. "You're trying to get me killed, I swear." He knew Nowaki had some kind of response to that, but before the boy could open his mouth, Hiroki turned on his heel and began marching back into the okiya's property. Each step he took, he relished the soft patter of joyful footsteps following behind him.

They went straight back to Hirok's original hiding place; Nowaki rolled out one of the futons down to the pitted floor to make a bed while Hiroki gathered a heap blankets for them. Hiroki relit candles, Nowaki straightened their bedding, and the two of them crawled under the sheets together, Nowaki drawing Hiroki close in his arms. Before, it was eerily quiet; and although normally Hiroki didn't necessarily mind silence, he much preferred the smooth murmur of Nowaki's voice, humming close to his ear, as he asked Hiroki simple questions about their days of separation.

"Did you go anywhere interesting, Hiro-san?" Nowaki asked.

"Not really," Hiroki shrugged. He had been hired to attend to a judo match that day, but he had spent the whole day with a group of drunken businessmen, whose jokes had quickly become crude, teasing and shamelessly flirting with Hiroki. It had been far from pleasant and put the brunet in a sour mood for most of the day, ruining both the expensive alcohol and the fight. Although he would have loved to complain, he knew how the story would rile up Nowaki's strong sense of justice and his jealousy, so he decided to refrain from sharing. Instead, he changed the subject, asking, "So, how about you?"

Hiroki could feel the man shift a bit, moving even closer against him, bringing his arm over to rub idly at Hiroki's exposed thigh as he stared down at him with those barely open, bedroom eyes. Nowaki then smiled and replied, "Oh Hiro-san, any story I'd try to tell would be dull in comparison to all the amazing things you do." Nowaki leaned in and pressed a kiss to Hiroki's forehead, inhaling deeply before adding, " You're amazing, Hiro-san."

"Geesh you're so corny," Hiroki snorted but his eyelids slipped shut as the young man pressed another kiss to the bridge of his nose. Voice smooth with contentment, Hiroki said, "I promise, this life is not as entertaining as you think it is."

"But you get drink almost everyday," Nowaki quipped.

Opening a single eye, Hiroki grunted, "No, I simply _pour_ the drinks. And babysit middle aged men."

Nowaki chuckled and crooned, "Mmhm, Certainly. That's why you come back drunk so often, Hiro-san."

"Do not."

Nowaki grinned and kissed him once more. "Do too."

"You make me sound like an alcoholic."

"No…you're just a party animal," Nowaki returned. His eyes had taken on a mischievous glint that was as innocent as beasts, topping the comment off with a smirky smile.

With that Hiroki threw Nowaki off of him, and the young man's head collided with the thin futon with a _thunk_. "Shut up, dumbass!" From there, he promptly tore a pillow away from the man and began swatting at him over and over again, hissing, "You wouldn't survive a day in my shoes! You should have respect for the art of being a host, you brat!"

"Owww, Hiro-san!" Nowaki cried, half whining, half giggling. "I was kidding! I was kidding! Owww!" Hiroki eventually relented, shooting a deadly glower at the young man, before he turned sharply away. He didn't bother to look, but Nowaki was nursing his injured skull, saying, "There's nothing wrong with being drunk, Hiro-san! I think it's cute!"

Hiroki narrowed his eyes and grunted, archly, "Figures, a dumbass, country bumpkin would never understand the skill and hard work behind hosting."

Nowaki didn't take offence to the insult. He never did. Rather, an arm stretched out and took Hiroki's wrist, tugging him gently back to the futon. Hiroki, despite his petulant air, simply submitted, allowing himself to drift back into Nowaki's arms. The young man nuzzled his nose into the crook of his neck, brushing against the skin along his jaw tenderly. His voice vibrated against Hiroki's jugular.

"I suppose I'm just too country to understand a life as complex as yours." He pressed a quick kiss to the taut skin and said, his voice dipping low into his throat, "Can you ever forgive me?"

Hiroki rolled his eyes and twisted onto his stomach, kick starting their usual game of persuasion, where Nowaki's goal was to get Hiroki to kiss him back. That pair of lips was kissing at his skin—this time, long and slow—and Hiroki wondered where on earth Nowaki got so much energy to be initiating sex at one o'clock in the morning after another long day of hauling crates of fish back and forth in the biting cold.

He tried to squirm away with little effort, and Nowaki had crawled over him, pinning him as he smooched the living daylights out of the back of his neck. "You smell so nice, Hiro-san. And you have such a beautiful body," Nowaki pointed out in a husky purr. Hiroki felt those large hands twitch—one combing through Hiroki's hair, the other aimlessly toying with a fold in the sheets—wishing they could speed up this little game by touching and exploring said body, but Hiroki stubbornly pressed himself so close to the wheezing futon, he swore he was being sucked in.

"I love you Hiro-san," Nowaki declared.

"Shhh, you might wake someone," Hiroki reminded, though they were both so used to this now, keeping their voices down, forcing their movements to be ginger, just in case the night happened to carry the sounds of their secret liaisons. It was only second nature.

Hiroki, as much as his pride refused to admit, yearned to hear his lover's voice at full volume, to understand what Nowaki sounded like without restraints. He'd only heard Nowaki's regular voice a handful of times, which troubled the man deeply; he often found himself attempting to imagine the sound in his loneliest hours, that beautiful voice laughing, chatting, and repeating 'I love you's' with confidence and pride. His imagination frequently referred back to the first time they had met for that sound, at a party almost two years beforehand.

Nowaki had long been a servant to a wealthy zenbatsu owner, Tsuji Nobu, who hired the boy at a young age as an act of charity. Nowaki, though he frequently referenced his past experiences, had only once fully explained his younger years to his lover. From what the older man had retained from the lengthy account, he understood that Nowaki was born in a fishing town about 100 miles east of Kyoto and was orphaned at an early age. He claimed he never knew his parents, spending his childhood in a starving orphanage that had been hit hard by dwindling energy supplies. Desperate to provide for his makeshift family, Nowaki silently boarded a train for Kyoto at thirteen, in search of work. His first months were challenging with the poor job market, facing homelessness and starvation—however, Nowaki described that the day he met Tsuji Nobu, his life was permanently changed.

Nowaki had met Tsuji one afternoon in a park—Nowaki, who was breaking underneath his bleak situation, was found crying, and Tsuji comforted the boy, listening to his story with earnest.

Hiroki, who had coincidentally met Tsuji Nobu as one of his first clients when he was only sixteen years old, always knew the man as stoic, closed off, proud—so when Nowaki told him that the man had expressed such compassion toward him, allowing the youth to live in his home and earn money by becoming a house servant, Hiroki was thoroughly surprised.

Hiroki and Nowaki were then brought together underneath these circumstances, years later.

Hiroki, who was still gaining much of his popularity at the time, had been invited to host a party at the man's estate—however, that morning, his best friend and unrequited love had officially rejected his confession, leaving the young host in a pathetic state. Nowaki, who had a keen sense of emotional turmoil, had immediately sensed Hiroki's miserable air and made it his personal mission to watch over him for the night. Though Hiroki had originally thought the boy's kindness was much to close for comfort, he eventually found solace in the servant's presence for the evening, allowing Nowaki to sweep him away from his own turbulent situation with his gentleness.

Oh that night, Nowaki had called him 'Kamijou-sama'—and although it was his common name, and as lack luster and desensitized as the back of his hand, there was a certain romance in the way Nowaki called him. Hiroki had been pampered that evening, even as he left his duties at the party to sob in a backroom with Nowaki at his side. And for the first time in a long time, he felt loved.

Nowaki brought such powerful sensations with him—his name, which meant typhoon, was rather suiting. He stirred the waves of Hiroki's heart and continued to sweep the man away with his seemingly endless adoration each time they met.

However, two problems stood in their way. First, due to Hiroki's prior commitment to his danna, Shinoda, it was prohibited that he engaged in sexual relations with anyone else. Second, Nowaki was of working class, Hiroki a host, meaning there was an undeniable gap in their societal standings. These problems meant the couple was forced to meet in privacy, when no one else could discover their secret rendezvous'. Nowaki claimed that his living situation wasn't suitable, and although Hiroki had visited his apartment once or twice, he had been drunk and didn't remember it. Plus, the youth didn't mind the walk to the okiya—he said, he'd do anything for his 'Hiro-san'.

It was such cruelty, to be forced to love under cloak of the night, but Hiroki found it to be just another necessary evil of the life he led.

~o~

Nowaki had managed to seduce Hiroki effectively and the smaller man had rolled over and sat up, a small reward for the youth's efforts. Newly aroused and energized by their sensual game, Hiroki was quick to begin stripping himself of his clothing. Reaching his hands behind to the ornate knot that sat at the bow of his spine, Hiroki pulled the fabric until he felt it slacken in his hands—Nowaki breathed a shuddering breath, swallowed hard, anticipation flickering in those wide blue eyes. The yukata opened considerably without the restraining cord tight around his waist, fabric draping suggestively over the man's shoulders, revealing the juban, or undergarments, he wore underneath.

Blinking, taking a moment to revel at the scene with swelling excitement, Nowaki's eyes explored the newly revealed expanses of skin with his usual awe. Hiroki never got tired of that look, that was somewhat ridiculous and yet made Hiroki feel so handsome, so sexy, so _perfect_.

Nowaki broke his gaze by leaning in, to kiss Hiroki—he smiled into the kiss, pulling away to murmur against lips, "You know, Hiro-san… you make me so happy."

Hiroki didn't know how to respond, between the bickering of his heart and his pride. He could feel his breath fanning over his lips, that youthful smile that was so full of love and intimacy. His lips betrayed him, replying softly, "Me too…I guess."

Nowaki, thrilled, grinned broadly before he captured Hiroki in another kiss. Nowaki's gasps were smooth and warm against the brunet's lips, his restless fingers finding purpose by slipping over his shoulders, draped fabric that was poking out at the bow of Hiroki's shoulders invited his fingers to indulge in the bare skin. Hiroki felt the pads of fingers running up and down his spine, over every dip and curve of muscle and bone, and then Nowaki was leaning in to kiss and suckle at the nape of his neck.

The younger man retreated backward, to pull off his own workman's jacket and shirt—then those hands were encasing his shoulders in their palms, and Nowaki was slowly, lovingly, easing the kimono off, taking the thin, silk undergarments along with him. With the top of the kimono pooling around his hips, his chest and abdomen were bare, revealing lustrous skin crowned by two pink buds that were begging for attention.

Hiroki gasped at the brisk night air against his bared skin. Within a second of the little noise of displeasure, Nowaki was back, warm hands brushing up and down his arms and then pulling him close into his chest, ridding Hiroki of whatever chill had nipped his skin. It was perhaps a little overbearing, but Hiroki felt his heart hum from love behind the gesture. Nowaki had always been this way, particularly with Hiroki.

Even on the night when they had first met, Nowaki had offered himself so selflessly. When the servant had followed Hiroki into the backroom, begging the youth to confide in him, he had sat with the man for an hour, offering all he had to the young host—he had brought him food, water, and a shoulder to cry on, promising over and over again that he'd _never_ betray Hiroki's secrets.

Hiroki at first thought the boy was insane or just a tad overbearing, but after many evenings together, he realized that Nowaki's only intention was to make him as happy as possible, even if it was in the smallest ways. So, from there on, Hiroki knew that each kiss, each touch, was uniquely crafted with him in mind.

During their first months as a couple, it was strange…to think of living for someone else. In fact, he couldn't understand it at all. Growing up among hosts had hardened him; commitment was no more than a simple agreement, a contract paid with hefty amounts of money, and signed with an autograph of approval. How many times had he felt hands on his ass, groping, slapping, fondling, squeezing? Or the insults he silently accepted, allowing himself to be disrespected, humiliated in order to please a client? He'd stopping counting years ago, once his backside had begun to feel as special as his hands, his heart as calloused as his elbows.

Then Nowaki came along.

Nowaki and his large hands that caressed him and touched him, gentle and yet firm, with lips that treasured every inch of him sweetly, reminding him of how intelligent he was, how caring, how _worthy_. It was the strangest feeling. It wasn't often when he wasn't being complimented for his looks or entertainment value. Nowaki treasured Hiroki's presence beyond what he could _provide_ for momentary pleasures…no Hiroki, himself, _was_ the pleasure.

Nowaki pulled a bit further away, struggling to disrobe himself of his workman's trousers and undergarments, eyes drifting toward the bunched kimono fabric that hugged his lover's hips. Hiroki blinked, in questioning, and Nowaki answered him. "Hiro-san…c-can you leave that on?" Hiroki blinked, and Nowaki's eyes drifted back to the kimono, then to brown eyes once more. "Please?"

Hiroki, though confused at the request, nodded. Nowaki smiled, leaning in to kiss Hiroki, deeply, slowly. "Thank you, Hiro-san," he breathed, kissing him again in the same way as before.

Hiroki rolled his eyes and replied, "I don't understand why you're thanking me right now…"

He pulled away slightly, adoring blue eyes, hands that moved to touch his chest…the most breathless smile. "For everything. For being you." He went back to kissing Hiroki, and there wasn't much of an argument the brunet could feign…not when he felt the same exact way.

It still puzzled him, why Nowaki wanted him to remain partially clothed…for what reason?

Normally the man was anxious, desperate to undress him. Not in the same feverish way that Shinoda would undress him. No, each time Nowaki had stripped him it was a representation of his sweet acceptance, as he removed one barrier between them. With Shinoda, undressing was a rushed action, one that wasted time and energy.

But he'd never known Nowaki to be one to tease himself, particularly with lingering clothing items that restricted his view. He began questioning and then a sliver of uncertainty wormed its way into his mind…

Nowaki stopped that thought, bending down to seek out Hiroki's lips, kissing him, then taking his tongue into his mouth, suckling it slowly and smoothing it over with his lips. They pulled away for breaths, just a moment, parted but still so close. Gazing at one another.

Hiroki was mesmerized. Nowaki had such a strong chest, so sturdy and warm, and his hands were charmed once again, moving forward to touch. His palms brushed over the skin, feeling the slightest shiver of anticipation in the man's breaths. Running hands up and down, just barely brushing the man's tender buds, Hiroki was arching himself close so they were chest to chest…he glanced up a second. Nowaki was watching him through wide, awestruck eyes. And although Hiroki had done this over and over again, something so vital to their relationship, he felt a line of embarrassing shivers sailing down his nerves.

For the first time in a long time, Hiroki's voice surfaced, grunting, "Stop staring at me, creep."

Noses bumped lightly and Nowaki leaned in to kiss him. "You're so shy, Hiro-san," he said, not smiling with his lips but with his voice. "You're so cute."

Hiroki scowled. "Quit teasing me." Nowaki replied with a curt, 'no thank you' and pushed on Hiroki's shoulders until he lay back flat onto the old futon, Nowaki hovering above. The position ignited all new urges that were even harder to ignore, feeling the heat of Nowaki's arousal so close to him.

The man must have felt the same, because he leaned down to kiss at Hiroki's neck, humming between kisses, "Hiro-san, you're so cute. So cute."

"Nowaki!" Hiroki squirmed. "I'm being serious!"

"And I'm being serious too," Nowaki simply replied, bringing one of those warm hands to Hiroki's chest, allowing it to wander for a second until it found one of Hiroki's nipples—he ran the pad of his finger across the bud over and over, smirking as the sensitivity began to peak. Hiroki unconsciously arched up, gasping, his eyelids slipping shut. He felt Nowaki continue, heading toward Hiroki's second nipple, plucking and rubbing until the bud resembled its match.

Hiroki willed his eyes open, to glance at Nowaki, who was drawing back, hovering low above Hiroki, just far enough where he could catch the shards of moonlight reflecting off the oceans in the man's eye's, but close enough to weaken his pride an extra degree.

Hiroki choked and his candid glances around the candlelit room contained neither question nor answer, only a spreading pleasure, his voice giving into gasps, like the gusts of frosty wind outside that caused the candle flames beside their makeshift bed to dance and flicker. He tried to eschew the moans of ecstasy that were starting to rise and buzz at his vocal cords, but much to his avail, Nowaki began suckling at the fleshy tips he'd been teasing, rendering Hiroki's restraint useless.

With that, he slammed his eyes, allowing himself to relish in the _other_ sensations of their love making instead. What had been noticeable before was now unmistakably obvious: Nowaki was erect. Hiroki could feel the heat resonating from the crown of his erection—he didn't have to open his eyes to know that the man's cock was pressed up against him, swollen and scarlet at the tip, desperately in need of attention. He could smell the burning wicks of candles next to them and dusty linens, mixed with building the earthy scent of their sex. Hands ran down his sides, causing him to gasp and shiver, then there was a shifting of the kimono's heavy fabric, being pulled up higher onto his abdomen, allowing the cool air to reach the most sensitive areas of his heat.

"One second. I brought something," Nowaki breathed heavily against Hiroki's ear, and that alone felt so, so good and Hiroki gasped in return, knowing exactly what Nowaki was talking about.

Allowing his eyes back open, he watched as Nowaki crawled over the futon, and begun fumbling with his jacket. Hiroki enjoyed the moment, where he could allow himself to explore Nowaki's body without restraint—his rich, dark hair, trim physique, muscles toned from years of menial labor, cute bottom, and the littlest freckle right on the inside of his thigh. He snapped his gaze away when Nowaki turned back with a small jar in hand, arguing with the smirky youth because he most was definitely _not_ checking him out despite what Nowaki wanted to believe.

Nowaki laughed and kissed him good and hard.

Though they had to whisper, and they could only move so much just in case something shifted or fell, Hiroki felt safe…and secure, forgetting all about Isaka and Asahina, his clients, those two little brats he'd been living with, and all the dumb rules that dictated his life during daylight. Now that night fallen, Hiroki was free, to do as he pleased and to love as he wanted.

~o~

Nowaki had fallen into an even rhythm once he had penetrated Hiroki, rolling his hips over and over again, slowly and smoothly, allowing Hiroki to feel every inch of him.

Hiroki's pride was grumbling about their position—with Nowaki on top of him, Hiroki splayed out, legs wrapped around the young man's waist. Though the sensations were drowning that petulant voice inside his head, allowing him to abandon his turbulent thoughts and just _feel_.

He felt a twinge of pain at the particular angle that Nowaki had shifted his hips in; felt the young man throbbing inside of him; his own weeping erection lying against his abdomen—it was agonizing pleasure, his face twisting in ecstasy, and he knew Nowaki felt the same, incoherent grunts and moans vibrating with the equal passion.

He felt one of Nowaki's hands slip down and begin idly toying with the kimono that had managed to bunch up around Hiroki's waist, smoothing the heavy silk over the pads of his fingers again and again—the youth was finding some kind of pleasure in this, the way his thighs suddenly tensed and his breathing sharpened. And although Hiroki thought it was a peculiar thing to get so hot and bothered over, he remained wordless, deciding he could tease his lover later once the youth had fully enjoyed his fantasy.

Nowaki groaned, his other hand reaching up underneath the bundled fabric to stroke Hiroki's burning length urgently, pushing the kimono and its respective undergarments open so there were no barriers between them. Nowaki was easily read, something Hiroki quite enjoyed about the young man—he could tell what noises turned him on just by the way his body reacted, such as the little gasps Hiroki gave each time they came together, the peculiar squish that came with the slick, excess cream that trickled around the muscle of Hiroki's cavern, the slight wheeze the futon gave each time Nowaki snapped his hips.

"Hiro-san, Hiro-san, oh…Hiro-san," he kept repeating over and over again, sometimes under his breath, other times at full volume, his usually airy voice developing a masculine huskiness.

The less cautious Nowaki got, the deeper he went, thrusting becoming more urgent as he buried himself to the hilt with each pump—Hiroki, in a desperate attempt to keep their cover, had to run one of his squirming hand over his lover's wrist, a silent reminder for the younger to relax a little, in case his voice carried.

Though it was next to impossible to remain entirely silent. Hiroki was beginning to feel his end quelling nearer, and could hardly suppress his own moans…this only stirred his lover's blood even more.

"Nggh, Nowaki, no more…I'm gonna!" Nowaki started stroking him harder, faster, and Hiroki could hardly find words.

"Hiro-san, please…nggh, please, I'm almost there!" He felt Nowaki leaking into him and his own swollen tip was steadily drooling, dribbling down onto the folds of the dusty blue kimono and creating quite the mess on the expensive fabric.

Suddenly his breath hitched, his voice gaining new pitch. "Oh…Nowaki!"

He felt his spasms start, release wracking his body, pleasure throbbing down his thighs over and over, riding out his orgasm with muffled gasps and moans, mumbling, "I love you, Nowaki," two or three, or maybe four times. As the waves of pleasure crashed onto Hiroki's shores, drowning his humiliation, his pride, every inhibition he ever had, he felt Nowaki begin pulsing inside of him.

"Hiro-san, Hiro-san!" Nowaki moaned, probably too loudly but Hiroki could hardly care as the young man indulged in his release, his hips jerking erratically, seeking Hiroki's lips for one final, urgent kiss before he too, came.

Gasps, sighs, and a few wet kisses filled void in the storage room, silence starting to wash over their shared bed—plus there was a new sensuality in the air, ringing contentment throughout the room. It took Nowaki a moment, but he slowly withdrew from Hiroki, gently, tenderly. Hiroki's breath hitched at the sensation—he was reluctant to have the contact end—but they both knew their liaison could only last so long.

Nowaki was back in an instant, holding Hiroki close and nuzzling himself into Hiroki's hair.

"I love you, Hiro-san," Nowaki sighed and Hiroki heard the sleepiness in the man's voice.

"Hey dumbass, no sleeping," Hiroki reminded, patting the man's shoulder. Nowaki, whose eyes had fluttered shut, looked at him with a whiney little pout. "Get up." Nowaki groaned and twisted away. Hiroki frowned.

"Hiro-san, give me ten," the young man pleaded, lazily rubbing a hand over his eye.

"No, cause then you'll end up spending the night," Hiroki retorted, though all he could think about was how warm it'd be if they shared the futon for the night.

"Fine then," Nowaki replied, sleepily, "I'll leave early in the morning. I promise."

Hiroki sighed, deciding to leave the man in peace for a few more minutes. He leaned himself back against Nowaki's shoulder, listening to the soft rhythm of hearts and lungs moving together in time. Somehow he ended up falling asleep, forgetting that morning was nearing. Times like this though, he liked to pretend the night would never end.

~0~


	7. 6

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to everyone that has reviewed so far and supported me over the past few months! Its so encouraging, it really is!

So, this is where the fun part begins hehe ;) Enjoy!

* * *

**~6~**

Akihiko liked the serenity of onsens, but tonight he was feeling restless. He could hear the symphonic chatter of crickets in the bushes behind him, and there was something disturbing about all that noise against the silence and the breeze that caressed at his bare shoulders, chilling the little droplets of water that dabbled his skin. He contemplated getting up and heading back to his room. He sunk deeper into the steamy water with the thought of having to face the seconds of cruel winter air against his naked skin, deciding he rather prune up inside the bath.

So he stayed where he was, slipping his eyes shut and leaning his head back onto the stone edge of the pool, taking a deep breath of the hazy mixture of steam, sugary incense, and the drifting earthy scent of the thicket behind him. The air was thick and moist, and he frowned, but not particularly bothered—it was hardly a factor in his agitation as of late. He had given the first draft of his latest literary venture to Hiroki, one he was expecting to receive stellar marks on, but rather all he was given in return was a scribbled note saying the plot unrealistic and stupid, rendering all his work pointless.

Hiroki could be so very rude sometimes.

He allowed his thoughts to float a little, pursing his lips. He hardly noticed when he heard the soft padding bare feet against the stones behind him. He opened his eyes lazily and twisted his neck, anticipating it to be that sour servant he ran into earlier, coming to bother him about his preference in dinner.

However, he was surprised to notice at the other pool across from his own there was a second patron who was currently undressing himself from his robes. He wasn't usually one to spy, but something about the young man's movement caught his interest and he turned his head slightly away, just observing out of the corner of his eye.

His subject hadn't revealed his face yet, but Akihiko already had his assumptions—thin, brunet mop of hair, youthful jawline that joined to a soft neck, thin back that curved into a pair of boyish hips—he stopped his gaze there, lingering along the boney curves that just disappeared underneath the coverings of his yukata. He stared a little longer, taking in each knob in the youth's spine, when suddenly the young man turned around.

Green met lavender.

Shit. Akihiko ducked his head down, cursing furiously underneath his breath. Not only did he get caught peeping, he also knew the person! Granted he couldn't quite remember their name at the moment or where they had met but there was certainly a spark of recognition! For goodness sakes! Could his luck get any worse?

"Uh…um…Usami-sama?" A voice called from across the onsen.

Akihiko cringed, but replied in the sturdiest voice that he could muster up, "Umm yes?"

"Ah, hello!" The boy turned around fully, still with his yukata hanging from his hips. Now Akihiko had the whole front to glance over—pale skin, skinny shoulders, two clavicle bones, pink nipples, and little dip of a belly button at his abdomen. He remembered this boy as Hiroki's servant from the bookstore…Takahashi Misaki! He smiled slightly at the memory of boy, miserable and bored as Hiroki milled around the bookstore oh so cruelly. Overall, he looked like a rather sheepish fellow, the way he fiddled with the fabric of his yukata, eyes fixed to the cobble stone flooring. Servant or not, Akihiko found it charming rather than unnerving and decided he quite liked Misaki.

Misaki coughed, rocked back and forth, and finally said in a pleasant way, "I…erm…didn't know someone like yourself would have time to come to an onsen."

Akihiko gave him a curious look and the boy blanched, assuming whatever he must have said had brought offense. "No! Er…what I meant was that you seemed like a very busy man the first time I met you!" he sputtered. He continued his nervous shifting. "You seem very…successful."

Akihiko just chuckled and said, "Ah yes, I am a very busy man. However I find my time to relax. It's important for your health, you know."

Misaki nodded adamantly, as if he strongly agreed—though Akihiko was certain the boy had no idea what he was agreeing to. Akihiko smiled, and then inquired, "Now my question is, why is someone like yourself at a onsen? You seemed like a very busy person as well."

It was rather peculiar to see a servant in a quiet onsen like such—unless his boss was paying for the fee it was much too expensive of an indulgence for a commoner.

"Umm…well, I'm here with Kamijou-sama. But he's busy with a…er…client so he let me go to the baths to keep busy."

"Ah I see," Akihiko hummed. "I feel quite sorry for you. It seems you've unwillingly become Hiroki's wingman."

Misaki tensed again and quickly shook his head, politely refuting, "Its quite alright Usami-sama!"

"Certainly not. You must be bored."

Misaki sputtered, not quite sure what to respond. Akihiko chuckled and coaxed, "Come on, dear boy. Get it off your chest."

"Yes, I-I am rather…lonely tonight."

Misaki nibbled at his plush bottom lip and his eyes drawn away, embarrassed by the admission. Akihiko allowed the silence to swell once more, the both of them listening to the sounds of the breeze swish its way through the thick bushes, and the shift of liquid as his body settled deeper into the steaming water. On the other hand, Misaki shuddered deliciously once the breeze made its way through the thicket and touched against his bare flesh. Lavender eyes watched, enchanted, as perky little nipples pinked, lean muscles clenched, and goose bumps spread up and down the bare skin of his arms and chest.

Akihiko had a thought and it tickled his interest.

"Misaki, why don't you join me this evening?"

"Me?" Misaki's eyes widened in surprise and when Akihiko nodded in affirmation, he broke into that lovely flush all over again. "Oh, Usami-sama, you're so generous."

"Please do," Akihiko replied though he hadn't expected to allow his curious yearning to tinge his voice. So he quickly added, "What's the fun of an onsen if you're alone?"

Misaki paused, seemingly agreed, and began fully undressing.

Akihiko watched, glancing at chubby toes, skinny calves, and knobby knees—he couldn't bring himself to look any further than that without the youth noticing his voyeurism. Not that he really could take much time anyway. Misaki was already stepping into the water, until his body was submerged, his skin looking even more pure against the water's shadowy reflection of midnight.

They allowed the silence to float around them, until Misaki finally said, "…Thank you Usami-sama."

Akihiko blinked and turned to the boy. "For what?"

Misaki smiled, eyes downturned but not focusing on anything at all. "For being so generous to me. And allowing me to be honest."

Taking in the gentleness of that smile, he replied, "Of course, pet."

Akihiko felt his body relax—heart beat slowing to a comfortable pulse, shoulders loosening, eyelids growing heavy, glowing in the unfamiliar peace that Misaki's presence brought him. He took a deep breath, inhaling the wafting fragrances that were now slightly tinged with the boy's scent.

"Can I confess to you something else, Usami-san?" Misaki suddenly asked.

Akihiko hummed drowsily, "Certainly, Takahashi-kun."

"Well," Misaki started, his voice soft, almost frail. "I…I…I think I want to make love to you."

Akihiko's interest jolted and he shot up to look at the boy straight on. "Make love?" he questioned as evenly as possible, fair eyebrows drawing together.

"Yes," Misaki replied faintly, eyes drawn downward, swishing his finger around in circles in the water. "I want to make love to you. I know it is naughty of me to think that way, but," he released a sharp sigh, shaking his head, "I- I just can't deny it any more."

Akihiko felt his nether regions twitch at sight of the resolve in the boy's expression.

"So please," Misaki continued, his voice dipping lower, to almost a desperate whisper, "Please take me."

Akihiko paused, stunned. He swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. "Takahashi-kun, your determination is rather charming," he pointed out, to fill the empty air, while he sorted his thoughts.

"T-Thank you, Usami-sama." Misaki burst into a lovely blush.

He hardly knew the Takahashi boy—for him to say such a thing, it was very bold. More than bold: it leaped across the gulf of their social standings. For a servant to even suggest such an illicit affair, especially to a superior, was certainly asking for a beating in Misaki's world—and then expulsion from his work. Akihiko wondered what would drive him to so easily risk his livelihood with such steadfast certainty. He took a moment to think, the initial shock decompressing from his lungs, freeing mind and allowing his contemplations to swirl.

He couldn't deny it: he found it all very touching.

"And," he continued, his words slipping from his lips smoothly, easily…almost a little too easily. "I would wish for nothing else but to cherish every inch of your body, my love."

This romantic declaration had come without thought or effort, and suddenly, his words became true sentiment, and his mind was flooded with this unexplainable craving for Misaki.

"Really, Usami-sama?" Misaki's paused, eyes fluttering with wonder, his chest shuddering with each breathy exhale, glancing up at Akihiko through his girlish eyelashes. He nibbled gently on his bottom lip, considering this confession, and Akihiko smiled at the realization that this titillated the boy.

"Yes, Misaki." He shifted in the water, closer to the boy, hesitating for nothing as he settled close to him, where the youth's soft skin brushed against his thigh. The proximity made Misaki jump at first, his simple frame quivering. "I've been thinking about you for a long while."

"Me?" Misaki's voice was quiet, questioning, curiosity causing those brows to furrow once again. Whether it was in disbelief or pondering, Akihiko couldn't tell from this angle. He wanted a better look…no, _needed_ a better look. So, he reached over, pads of his fingers brushing against the supple skin of the boy's plush cheeks, maneuvering Misaki's gaze with a gentle twist of the wrist. Eyes connected, he leaned in, allowing their foreheads to gently bump, their lips practically brushing.

"Yes you, love. Something about you has me mesmerized…" When there was no immediate response, Akihiko added with a purr, "Why don't you spend the night? You know I'd _love_ it if you did…"

"Me?" Misaki repeated, still in shock, his breaths coming quicker and shakier. Akihiko chuckled patiently, though his hands spoke otherwise, dipping back into the water to smooth over the gentle planes of the youth's thighs.

Suddenly, their lips were connected; whether he or Misaki initiated it, he couldn't tell.

From there, his senses were filled with heat; the searing touch of hot tongues caressing, flushed skin pressing, brushing, rubbing, inexperienced hands shyly smoothing up and down his body, the hazy steam rising from the bath languidly wafting around the pools.

Naked skin, flushed, sweating, the sounds of water sloshing against the rocks mingling with breathy moans coming from the delicate body that was sitting in his lap, his own length throbbing at the sensation of Misaki's lush bottom teasing at his bulging head so mercilessly, and yet so very innocently.

"Mnnh, ah, U-Usami-sama," Misaki whimpered breathily.

Akihiko released his grip on the youth's waist, snaking around to the front to take a hold of Misaki's cute cock. After playfully pumping the erection, Akihiko pulled his fist down to the tip and toyed with the plump head, earning a few needy moans from the servant, muscles tensing, hips bucking in ecstasy.

Finally, the boy pulled close to him, lips brushing sweetly against the shell of his ear, panting. "Love me, Usami-sama. Please make love me"

Akihiko returned with purr, "Certainly my love."

~0~

Lavender-blue eyes opened to a warm, pale light, filtering through rice paper windows. The air was crisp in the room, nipping at the pads of bare toes that were peeking out of the cavernous mound of silk sheets and down-comforters the young man had buried himself in. Face smothered by a pillow, stuffed to the brim with the finest of goose-feathers, Akihiko grunted and sighed. A throb of pleasure pulsed through his lower belly from the pressure this position was placing on his stiffened groin. Great. He had an erection.

One hand went down to grab a fistful of bedding, yanking it all up over his head, perhaps to eliminate the dreaded light that was soaking its way into the room. He quickly decided this was hardly comfortable and pushed the blankets back down to his shoulders, revealing the young master who was sporting a tangled mess of greyish-blond hair and a peevish scowl.

Akihiko lay on the broad futon, fingers tracing along the rolling fabric valleys of quilted buttons, yearning thoughts drifting back home to his mattress. He shifted uncomfortably and huffed, cursing the bedding and then the entire hotel. He had grown accustomed to the sleeping accommodations back in England, where he could rely on the sturdiness of an actual bed, complete with a frame, a box spring, and mattress, rather than sleeping on a mat that was comparable to a single layer of bedding.

He may have been Japanese by blood, but he was certainly English at heart.

He sighed, staring up at the wooden rafters where the morning light that managed to slip through the rice paper doors was beginning to drive away the evening's shadows. He jerked again with a frustrated huff, fruitlessly twisting in his blanket.

It was already torture enough to wake up to a raging cock, curving proudly against his lower belly in the aftermath of another one of his unfulfilled midnight fantasies. He didn't need a bloody futon to add to his misery.

With that thought, he sat up, his features creased with sour petulance, eyes scanning the bedroom for no reason in particular. Why did it cut off so soon, he moaned to himself, glaring bitterly down at his erection that was beginning to twitch with impatience. The bigger question should have been, "Why the Takahashi boy?" but Akihiko could hardly deny the faint desire that had been simmering in the back of his mind ever since their meeting last week.

Not that he quite _chose _to be thinking about Hiroki's little pet.

He couldn't quite put his finger on what was so mesmerizing about the servant—he had once allowed himself to wade into these ponderings, only to end up drowning in his own whirlpool of thoughts and fantasies and questions, coming only to the conclusion that Takahashi's boyish demeanor must have sparked some kind of trivial lust within him.

The thought of Misaki alone sent a pulse through his cock, making him grunt in displeasure.

He didn't have much other option besides to manually finishing himself off, he realized with a hopeless sigh. Akihiko gingerly lifted the blankets, glancing down at himself, eyebrows knitting together, apprehensive. He _really_ wasn't one to engage in self-pleasuring, _especially_ in a hotel.

He figured he'd wait it out, as usual, and laid himself back onto the dreaded futon, hoping he could snooze it off. However, his erection throbbed stubbornly, an impatient demand for attention. After a minute Akihiko relented.

"Dammit," Akihiko cursed under his breath, scooting out from his fortress of blankets to retrieve a handkerchief from his coat pocket. Once resituated, Akihiko proceeded to deal with the problem.

He took himself in his hand and his body shuddered with pleasure at the mere touch. However his attempts to think of his usual favorites—scenes from his series of flowery romance novels—all quickly exchanged his characters for a new face: Misaki.

In his mind he saw Misaki underneath him, robes disheveled, large doe eyes blinking innocently up at him, a hot blush coloring those downy cheeks. "Usami-sama," Misaki's voice purred, thick, drowsy with lust…Akihiko was certain that wasn't quite exactly the young man's voice, and he tested a few tones out in his head until he found a keening moan that matched Misaki's flushed face.

He stroked his length a few times more, in firm even strokes waiting patiently for the telltale tingles of pleasure. Akihiko grunted, eyes fluttering open. This simply wouldn't do. He thrusting his hips a little, sliding his fist down in at more rapid pace, hoping to fall into some kind of rhythm.

Once he returned to his fantasy, the image had shifted. Now, Misaki was on his knees in front of him, his ass poked lewdly in the air, letting Akihiko take full control. The author focused in on this thought, his strokes hastening, from the base to the tip, slowing right at the crown before plunging back downward, to simulate Misaki's delicate body taking him in.

For a moment Akihiko swore he could feel his hands gripping those slight hipbones, his thighs coming in contact with the supple, plush skin of Misaki's ass with each thrust, those delicious, clipped moans that matched their quickening pace.

With a rich groan, Akihiko allowed the fantasy to flood his mind. He couldn't deny himself any longer of his adoration for Misaki. Later…later he would worry about the fact that he had been fantasizing about his best friend's servant."

"Usami-sama," that voice moaned over and over again, where Akihiko could practically feel those hot, bated breaths fanning his ear. "Mhhmm, Usami-sama."

"Ah, yes Misaki," he breathed, his voice becoming hoarse with passion, the tension coiling tight in his belly. "My _love_."

Later, he would figure out if he were out of his mind.


End file.
